


Kinktober 2020 FE3H

by OhNoHello



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Plug, BDSM, Bath Houses, Blindfolds, Blood and Gore, Body Swap, Body Worship, Boot Worship, Breast Fucking, Choking, Collars, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dildos, Distension, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fight Sex, Fingers in the mouth, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gags, Groping, Hegemon Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ice Play, Intercrural Sex, Kabeshiri, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Mind Control, Muzzle Kink, Omorashi, Over the Clothes, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pony Play, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Riding Crops, Scissoring, Sensory Deprivation, Shibari, Shotgunning, Size Difference, Somnophilia, Spanking, Stepping, Strap-Ons, Stuck in a wall, Temperature Play, Tentacles, Threesome, Tickling, Time Freeze, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, Wax Play, Wetting, distracted sex, gay tower, lucky pierre, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 90,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: OhNoHello's FE3H Kinktober ChallengeSylvain/Felix - stuck in a wallAnnette/Ingrid - shibariIgnatz/Raphael - publicHubert/Ferdinand - gropingCatherine/Shamir - scissoringHilda/Marianne - chokingSylvain/Bernadetta - praiseFelix/Ashe - somnophiliaDorothea/Ingrid - distensionLorenz/Ignatz - frottageHanneman/Gilbert - distractedHubert/Bernadetta - spankingCaspar/Ashe/Linhardt - DPIngrid/Sylvain - daddy/peggingDimitri/Felix - muzzleClaude/Lorenz - boot worshipHegemon!Edelgard/Hubert - suspension/tentaclesMercedes/Annette - ticklingAshe/Dedue - body worshipDorothea/Edelgard - temperature playFerdinand/Sylvain/Lorenz - threesome/general filthCaspar/Raphael - edgingFelix/Annette - body swapHubert/Ashe - sensory deprivationDimitri/Dedue - voyeurismBernadetta/Raphael - size differenceDimitri/Claude - shotgunningByleth/Edelgard, Byleth/Claude, Byleth Dimitri - time freezeFelix/Linhardt - mind controlSylvain/Hubert - pony playDimitri/Marianne - monster fucking
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Hubert von Vestra, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Linhardt von Hevring, Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez/Raphael Kirsten, Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Linhardt von Hevring, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ferdinand von Aegier/Sylvain Jose Gautier/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Ferdinand von Aegir/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Hanneman von Essar/Gilbert Pronislav, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Ignatz Victor, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley, Raphael Kirsten/Ignatz Victor, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Hubert von Vestra, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Comments: 199
Kudos: 746





	1. Index

Howdy folks!

I'm super excited to be finally posting this beast! I've been working on it for a couple of weeks now, screaming thru nasty prompts, and I think I got a couple of good ones.

So here's how it's going down. Pretty much the list and ships were ones that I picked out and I didn't pull my prompts from a list from someone else. There's a lot of D/s, there's a lot of kneeling, there's a lot of _fingies in the mouth!_ Things might get a little weird. Fills in this bad boy range from soft to nasty to stupid.

I will be listing out the kinks in each fic in the top note along with any pertinent content warnings in big friendly letters. So for instance, a public places prompt might have a bit of stepping in it so both **PUBLIC, STEPPING** would be listed. And if there was a little blood, **BLOOD** will be listed as a content warning bc bleeding wouldn't normally be associated with those kinks. I just want folks to have a good time so read tags carefully and make sure this is the fic for you. There's a bit in here that is not for everyone. Please take care of yourself, especially now.

Here's what you get to look forward to this month:

Oct 1 - Sylvain/Felix - stuck in a wall/kabeshiri  
Oct 2 - Annette/Ingrid - shibari  
Oct 3 - Ignatz/Raphael - public  
Oct 4 - Ferdinand/Hubert - groping  
Oct 5 - Catherine/Shamir - scissoring  
Oct 6 - Hilda/Marianne - choking  
Oct 7 - Sylvain/Bernadetta - praise  
Oct 8 - Ashe/Felix - somnophilia  
Oct 9 - Ingrid/Dorothea - distension  
Oct 10 - Lorenz/Ignatz - frottage  
Oct 11 - Hanneman/Gilbert - distracted  
Oct 12 - Hubert/Bernadetta - spanking  
Oct 13 - Caspar/Linhardt/Ashe - double penetration  
Oct 14 - Ingrid/Sylvain - daddy  
Oct 15 - Felix/Dimitri - muzzle  
Oct 16 - Claude/Lorenz - boot worship  
Oct 17 - Hegemon!Edelgard/Hubert - suspension  
Oct 18 - Annette/Mercedes - tickling  
Oct 19 - Ashe/Dedue - body worship  
Oct 20 - Dorothea/Edelgard - temperature play  
Oct 21 - Lorenz/Ferdinand/Sylvain - threesome  
Oct 22 - Caspar/Raphael - edging  
Oct 23 - Annette/Felix - body swap  
Oct 24 - Hubert/Ashe - sensory deprivation  
Oct 25 - Dimitri/Dedue - voyuerism   
Oct 26 - Bernadetta/Raphael - size difference  
Oct 27 - Dimitri/Claude - shotgunning  
Oct 28 - Byleth/Edelgard, Byleth/Claude, Byleth/Dimitri - time freeze  
Oct 29 - Linhardt/Felix - mind control  
Oct 30 - Sylvain/Hubert - pony play  
Oct 31 - Dimitri/Marianne - monster fucking

So without further ado, enjoy a little escapism.


	2. Sylvain/Felix - Stuck in a Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix did not know and could not believe how he got in the predicament he was in. 
> 
> The sword had landed just outside of the punched out hole and Felix figured he was slim enough to reach through and grab it. There would be no need to leave the training grounds, walk around, and waste all that time. 
> 
> He was filled with regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  STUCK IN A WALL/KABESHIRI  
> SALAD TOSSING**
> 
> So. . . this is one of the fills that is _amazingly_ dumb. I like this weird kink so much and just had to write it but there is no real smart way for someone to ya know. . . get stuck in a wall. One of these beautiful idiots would manage it. 
> 
> This is also one of those fills were I'm like 'they deserve better and softer.' Another reason I'm doing a FluffCember to give this ship its due. 
> 
> But until then. . . Felix. . . stuck in a wall. . . 
> 
> Feel like this is a good way to start off the month :)

Felix did not know and could not believe how he got in the predicament he was in. 

On paper it all made sense. Raphael had, once again, gotten too gregarious during training and suddenly the training grounds had a new window. Felix, all alone in the early morning, had lost his grip on his sword and it went flying through said hole. Luckily there wasn’t anyone around to see that particular failure. 

The sword had landed just outside of the punched out hole and Felix figured he was slim enough to reach through and grab it. There would be no need to leave the training grounds, walk around, and waste all that time. 

He was filled with regrets. 

Felix hung outside of the hole, stuck at the waist. Half his body dangled outside, the other half in, functioning as a plug. His upper body shivered in the chilly mist of pre dawn, his lower over heated in the dank of the training grounds. 

At least there was no one around to see it. . . yet. 

Felix wriggled again, pushing off the balls of his feet, trying to pry himself out of the hole. He pushed his hands against the wall, pushing into the open air. He kicked his feet back, trying to pull himself back in. When it proved to be futile, Felix huffed and sagged again. 

The worst of it all was his sword. It lay on the grass in front of him, just out of reach. Felix strained for it and was mere inches of touching steel with his fingertips. He whined under his breath before giving in again. 

Pathetic. 

“Wow, what happened here?” 

Felix’s head shot up. The voice on the other side of the wall was muffled but Felix recognized it all the same. He began scrambling in a mad attempt to free himself once more. He clawed into the dirt, pulling out clumps of grass. 

“Felix?” He was laughing. 

“Go away Sylvain,” Felix snarled. 

Even without seeing him, Felix could just picture the insufferable grin his so called friend wore. He chuckled and a heavy weight pressed against the small of Felix’s back. Sylvain was leaning against him. 

“You sure you don’t want some help, buddy?” Sylvain asked. “Oh dearest friend of mine?” 

“Not from you I don’t,” Felix grumbled. 

Sylvain laughed, clear as a bell, and gave Felix’s backside a swift smack. The sheer force of it jolted Felix forward and the air was knocked out of his lungs. He glared over his shoulder and only saw brick wall. 

“You sure?” Sylvain asked. “I mean I could get someone else. Maybe Mercedes will be kind enough to help, however she can. Or Ashe could bring some lard from the kitchen to lube you up. Or I could just get Dimitri to–”

“Okay fine!” Felix shouted. “. . . get me out.” 

“What do you say, Felix?” Sylvain asked. He leaned in again, resting both elbows on Felix’s backside. 

“Get me out Gautier!” 

Sylvain didn’t move. He wiggled back and forth which in turn forced Felix to do the same. Felix kicked and Sylvain laughed again, moving off him. 

“Alright alright,” Sylvain laughed. “Keep your panties on.” 

Strong hands wrapped around Felix’s ankles and lifted them off the ground. 

“Hey!” Felix shouted. 

“Do you want help or not!” Sylvain shouted back and yanked. 

Once again, air was squeezed from Felix like a tube. His body did move, but not far enough. The jagged edges of the hole dug into his ribcage and he wheezed like a bellow. Sylvain yanked again. 

“Come. On,” he said with each pull. 

“Sylvain!” Felix pleaded. “Stop!” 

“Hang on, I just need more leverage,” Sylvain said and his touch crept up Felix’s legs until he reached slim thighs. 

Felix’s head shot up and his face heated. Sylvain was always a shapely man, but with his height, his girth was deceiving. He filled the space between Felix’s legs, propped a thigh on each hip, and _pulled._

Felix’s crotch made contact with warmth and girth. He wasn’t breathing hard enough to have the air squeezed out of him this time. Sylvain strained from the otherside, pulling and pulling, as he thrust his hips forward to meeting Felix’s. 

“Damn!” he said, finally giving up. He dropped Felix’s legs and the top of his feet thudded to the ground. “You’re so skinny, how did you get stuck?” 

Felix only whimpered. He stared at his sword, wishing he could just reach it, if only for the comfort. 

“What if I pushed?” Sylvain asked. 

Felix closed his eyes and hung his head, feeling the brilliant shade of red he was sporting. 

“Felix?” Sylvain asked. 

“Just do it already!” Felix snapped. 

“Yes sir.” Felix could practically see the sarcastic little salute. 

Hands curled around his hips, the strength in their grip apparent from years of working a lance. They dug into Felix’s slim hips, denoting a restrained power that made Felix’s blood pump faster. Felix swallowed, staring down his traitorous sword. 

“Ready?” Sylvain asked. 

No. 

“Quit stalling,” Felix snarled. 

Sylvain pushed forward. He put his weight into it. Felix was thrust forward, his hips pushed flush against brick and mortar. From the otherside of the wall, Sylvain grunted with strain. Felix tried to assist, tried to push against the floor. They barely got anywhere. Somewhere there was a stop gap, more than just the slim width of Felix’s hips. 

“Hang on,” Sylvain said, letting up. “My hands are in the way. Maybe if I just. . .” 

Big hands shifted and cupped Felix’s ass. 

Felix jolted and made an undignified noise somewhere between a swallowed tongue and a strangled cat. Once again Sylvain pushed. 

The flesh of Felix’s ass was pushed up, skin molding and folding under Sylvain’s tight grip. His back arched, he went up on his toes. Sylvain more or less folded him rather than pushed him forward. Sylvain stopped his slow motion tackle. 

“Wait wait, let me try something else,” he said. 

Felix had stopped struggling, stopped assisting, he could only experience. Sylvain shifted his hands again, reaching to cup the fold where Felix’s ass met his thighs. Felix glared at the growing dawn, his fingers digging into the dirt. 

Rather than leaning forward shoulder first, Sylvain instead stood upright, introducing his hips to Felix’s. He pushed and Felix felt way more about his friend than he ever needed to know. All thoughts of the embarrassing predicament, of the lewd vision they must have made, left Felix’s head. All that mattered was the perfect way they lined up, the way Sylvain cupped his ass just so. 

Felix moaned. 

Sylvain stopped. They were frozen, Sylvain still pushing against Felix. He squeezed Felix’s thighs in one pulsation and Felix whimpered. 

“Felix,” Sylvain said and it sounded like laughter. “Are you–?”

“No!” Felix spat, turning his head as if to glare at the man on the other side of the wall. 

Sylvain groped again. Felix’s thighs quivered. 

“You are.” He was definitely laughing. His hand trailed over Felix’s hip, torturously slow. 

“Don’t you dare!” Felix hissed. 

“You sure about that?” Sylvain ran his hand over Felix’s rapidly growing erection. 

Felix tensed, from toe to tip. His head whipped back around and he stared at the open road in front of him. He couldn’t see anything, not the mist on the ground or the dew on the grass. All that mattered was the gentle rub of those rough hands. 

“Aw Felix,” Sylvain cooed. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

Almost lovingly, Sylvain rested his cheek atop Felix’s perched ass. The sound of his muted voice, the pull of his cheek, the rub of his hand, conjured up the charismatic smile that Felix knew _too_ well. He closed his eyes and shivered. 

Sylvain’s hand picked up. Sylvain’s hand pressed. Sylvain made everything _harder._

“This is definitely something I can help with,” he said against Felix’s ass. “Do you want me to help you with this hard, _difficult_ problem?”

Felix ground his teeth. His back tensed, arching further into the hole. Subconsciously he ground into Sylvain’s palm. 

“Felix?” Sylvain sang. His teeth raked over Felix’s ass, pulling at his pants. 

“If you’re going to do it, just do it!” Felix hissed. 

Sylvain laughed and Felix could _feel_ it. 

“Yes sir,” he said, almost too quiet to hear. 

Thick fingers slipped into the band of Felix’s pants and steadily rolled them down his hips. Bit by agonizing bit, Felix’s skin was revealed to the dank of the training room. The musty air kissed his flesh and elicited goose pimples. The band of his pants and smallclothes caught on his erection. Sylvain purposefully pulled on it and Felix bit his lip to hold back a whimper. But when soft lips pressed against the bare skin of his ass, Felix couldn’t hold back. Sylvain’s smile pressed against him, pleased with the little sound, and finally he freed Felix’s aching cock. 

“Ah,” Sylvain purred. “Someone’s happy.” 

Felix wanted to snarl. He wanted to spit and hiss and tell Sylvain to fuck off, but a warm hand curled around his dick and there was nothing more he could do. 

Sylvain started off slow, almost lovingly. He moved as if he were trying to coax Felix, to convince him to arousal, but Felix was already achingly hard. Felix didn’t appreciate it, just wanting Sylvain to get on with it already. He didn’t need seduction, he needed release, in more ways than one. 

Instead, Sylvain planted a soft, wet kiss, in that same fold where his ass met his thigh. 

Felix jolted. From behind the wall, Sylvain laughed. There was another kiss. And another one. Becoming more wet and sloppy as they went, a praising tongue trailing over his skin. Sylvain’s hand picked up in speed, but that tongue distracted Felix. 

Felix’s ass was pulled open, air brushing against a now revealed hole. Felix sucked in a breath and glared at the world outside, not knowing, not seeing what the man behind him was going to do next. It all became clear when a thick, wet tongue pressed against his hole. 

“Sylvain!” Felix shouted into the morning. 

Another low chuckle, another smile he could feel against his ass cheeks. Sylvain went in again, lapping long and slow. Who knew the man had patience? It seemed he did when it came to tormenting Felix. 

Sylvain got to work, tonguing Felix’s ass, lapping at him as if he were mana from the heavens. He stopped tugging on Felix’s dick, his hand tracing around his hip to pull Felix open wider still. Felix panted, pulled at grass, silently glad that they were the only two around that morning. At least Felix hoped they were alone in the training grounds. His head hung low at the thought of someone watching them. 

Sylvain stopped to pull back. 

“You’re shaking,” he said. 

Felix bit his lip. He didn’t need Sylvain knowing just how much this was affecting him, although he had a sneaking suspicion Sylvain already know. 

Everything became so much worse when that thirsty tongue slipped inside. 

“Ah!” Felix shouted. His head snapped up and his hand jerked back to grab at Sylvain. All he could achieve was a quick slap to the brick. 

“Settle down,” Sylvain laughed and nipped at his ass. 

Sylvain slipped a hand between Felix’s thighs and once again found his cock. He pulled and tugged and milked Felix as if he were some kind of animal. Felix whined and waited for that tongue to come back, to worship his sloppy hole, but it didn’t. Instead, a finger pressed inside. 

Felix could feel his legs quiver, how his feet went up on his toes, just how he presented himself to Sylvain. Sylvain’s finger pumped in and out of his hole in time with the jerks on his dick. He twisted his finger, coaxed it, until he found just the right spot inside Felix. He stroked and stroked and stimulated and pulled out a tension that coiled just between Felix’s legs. 

Felix moaned. He couldn’t help it. It was an involuntary noise drawn out by Sylvain. 

Sylvain’s smile and tongue pressed at the expanse of skin between his ass and sack. He pushed against the flesh, against the tiny taut muscle there, and the sheer tension of it dragged another involuntary moan out of Felix. 

Sylvain’s mouth disappeared and all that was left was the quick pace of his pumping finger and jerking fist. The grip on Felix’s dick tightened and Felix felt the mounting build of an oncoming orgasm. He held his breath and looked up to the pink orange of the sky. 

The finger in his ass pulled away slowly only to once again be replaced by an invading tongue. Another tug on his dick, another probe inside, and the large flame of the morning sun crest the horizon. 

Felix came. 

He shouted a brief cry, his legs kicked out, and he went flying through the hole. Thick globules of cum dribbled on the mortar as he popped out. Felix landed face first into the dirt, shivering as he orgrasmed violently. He curled up on his side, his pants restricting his legs, eyes wide and trying to come down from the onslaught of new sensations he had just suffered. 

Slowly, Syvlain’s head peeked over the edge of the hole in the wall. He looked curiously, almost apologetically down at Felix, then a large friendly grin split his face. 

“We did it!” he said with a thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END ON A JOKE! 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	3. Annette/Ingrid - Shibari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” Annette said softly, cupping her chin. “Whats wrong? Do you really hate make up that much?” 
> 
> Ingrid sighed. 
> 
> “No its not that,” she said. “I like it. I like when you make me look pretty.” 
> 
> Annette smiled sweetly. 
> 
> “You always look pretty,” she said. “I only enhance it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **KINKS:  
> **  
>  SHIBARI
> 
> What it says on the tin
> 
> Honestly, my first play thru I got to Annette and Ingrid's C support and was like "they're gay as hell" and low key shocked that this was a rare pair?! Anyways, had to write 'em :)

Annette leaned in close again, brush aimed at the ready. Ingrid tried very hard not to blink. She really did. 

“Don’t blink,” Annette said for what had to be the 100th time. 

“I’m really trying,” Ingrid said. 

“And try not to blush,” Annette said. “Its messing with the color palette.” 

It was a little hard not to. What with Annette straddled across her torso like that, a slim thigh on either side, skirt hiked up. How the hell was Ingrid not supposed to blush. She stared up at her ceiling, hands folded across her chest, and did multiplication tables in her head. 

Annette went for a black tipped pen and leaned in. Her lips were so close, Ingrid could feel her breath along her face. 

“Now you can close your eyes,” she said. 

Ingrid did so and it was so much worse. She could feel Annette’s weight, could feel her light touch, her breath, the strands of her hair. She could smell the simple perfume Annette wore, the sulfur from her magic laden hands, the sugar from sweets she stole that afternoon. 

Ingrid swallowed. She pressed her thighs together, trying to convince her body to stop _feeling_. 

“There,” Annette said, nothing but chipper. “All done.” 

Ingrid kept her eyes closed, her painted lips pressed into a tight line. She held her breath. 

“Ingrid?” Annette asked. 

“Mm?” Ingrid whined. 

“Are you okay?” 

Ingrid managed to peel open her eyes. Annette still sat on her stomach, head cocked in concerned curiosity. She held the eyeliner pencil up in the air, her mouth pouted into a little frown. It was so perfectly adorable and Ingrid hated the way her gaze flitted down Annette’s open jacket, her flared skirt. . . 

She looked away quickly. 

“Hey,” Annette said softly, cupping her chin. “Whats wrong? Do you really hate make up that much?” 

Ingrid sighed. 

“No its not that,” she said. “I like it. I like when you make me look pretty.” 

Annette smiled sweetly. 

“You always look pretty,” she said. “I only enhance it.” 

She gently tilted Ingrid’s face a little higher, raising her chin, as if she were inspecting Ingrid. Like a prize horse. Something about it stirred more within Ingrid. Her knees knocked as she pushed her legs tighter still. 

“Th-thank you,” she managed to say. 

“I could do more,” Annette said. “I could help you pick out a new outfit or ooh! We could paint our nails!” 

“Its not. . . Its not that Annette.” Ingrid swallowed. “I want more but just. . .” 

She looked down her body, to where Annette was still perched on her. Annette followed her gaze and suddenly became aware of how she was straddling Ingrid’s body. Her eyes grew wide and she placed both hands on Ingrid’s sternum, sitting more upright. Ingrid shifted and this time Annette was completely aware of what was going on. 

“I just. . .” Ingrid choked. “I want. . .”

“Oh,” Annette said, having the gall to sound surprised. “Well then.” 

A slow, semi-sinister smile spread across Annette’s face. Even with an ounce of deviousness, she always managed to look sweet. 

“I suppose there are _other_ ways to make you pretty,” she said. Her voice was still that happy little sing song, but the way the timbre dropped, the innuendo that was laced so finely through it. 

It went straight through Ingrid. 

She swallowed again.

"O-okay," she said. 

"Great!" Annette clapped her hands together, back to her usual pep. "Get undressed and I'll be right back." 

Annette climbed off Ingrid, pushing the air out of her with a quiet _'oof'_ , and she was out of Ingrid's room in a flash. Ingrid stared longingly as the door slowly slid shut before she crawled off the bed. She began undoing her jacket when she caught sight of herself in the little desk mirror. As per usual, Annette had done a wonderful job with the makeup. Enhancing, not obscuring. 

Ingrid felt safe putting matters of beauty into Annette's capable hands. 

Ingrid had stripped down to her smallclothes by the time Annette came back. There was a soft knock on her door and Ingrid opened it just enough to peer outside. Annette grinned and leaned forward, both hands behind her back.

Annette took in her state of undress and frowned. 

“I meant completely undressed,” she said. 

“Oh,” Ingrid said with a start, closing the door shut a little too hard. 

“But its completely okay.” Annette waved her hands in the air. “If you don’t want to you don’t have to! We can do this over your clothes.” 

“No no, its okay,” Ingrid said, pulling down the straps of her undershirt. It was not so quick work to undo the ties, but soon she stood bare, her bloomers pooled at her feet, skin shivering in the night air. 

Annette’s small smile made it worth it. 

Ingrid wrapped her arms around her waist. 

“Don’t do that,” Annette said, gently touching her arm. “You’re beautiful.” 

Ingrid blushed and looked away, smiling as she did, but let her arms drop to her sides. It was then she noticed the length of red rope in Annette’s hand. A large wooden dowel in the other. 

“What is that?” she asked. 

Annette looked at the rope, her eyes sparkling. 

“Rope,” she chirped. 

Ingrid gave her a bland look. 

“Come, come,” Annette said, taking Ingrid by the hand. “Stand in the middle of the room.” 

She began to unwind the rope from its folded over state and it hit the floor with a soft thud and placed the dowel gently on the rug. Ingrid watched it go with apprehension. Annette caught her expression. 

“Do you trust me?” she asked. 

Ingrid sighed, smiling at her friend. 

“Of course,” she said. “I trust you to make me pretty.” 

Annette tucked a stray strand of hair behind Ingrid’s ear. 

“I already said,” she said. “You’re already pretty. This will just enhance what’s already there.” 

And with that, she looped the rope around the back of Ingrid’s neck. Ingrid stood still, watching Annette’s dexterous fingers quickly make a series of knots down her chest, between her breasts. Ingrid’s breathing picked up with every brush of Annette’s fingers. She looped the rope around Ingrid’s hips once, twice, three times. She danced around Ingrid’s body, tracing the rope over her ass, between her legs, under her ass propping it up, around her thighs. As Annette’s hands looped between Ingrid’s legs, she brushed past her cunt. There was no hiding just how wet Ingrid was and she winced, closing her eyes, her hands clasped to her chest. 

From behind her, Annette looped the rope through the line at the back of her neck, down her back, around to the front of her chest. She threaded the rope through the series of knots that trailed down Ingrid’s chest, pulling them into taut diamond shapes.

When Annette moved her hands over the ropes, she lingered, moving almost reverently. 

“I’m going to tie up your arms now,” she said, her voice thick and as strained as Ingrid felt. “It might get a little snug. Let me know if its too tight.” 

Ingrid nodded. Annette pat the back of her neck. 

“Are you doing alright?” she asked. 

“Great,” Ingrid said looking over her shoulder. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. “I’ve just never done anything like this before.” 

Annette giggled, a squeal more than anything else, and wrenched Ingrid’s compliant arms behind her back. The work was slow and diligent. Ingrid didn’t know the shapes Annette was making, but could feel the rope go taut on her upper arms, then her elbows, then her forearms. She could feel each tough tug, pulling at Ingrid’s shoulders, making her just a little tighter. 

“Where did–” Ingrid grunted as Annette pulled tighter. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“Oh I just picked it up,” she said. “Self taught you know? Between my knitting and horse work and fishing, I just got good with knots.” 

“I bet you had lots of . . . suitors who helped you out huh?” 

Annette tied one more knot around Ingrid’s wrists, forcing them together. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Ingrid’s waist, and rested her chin on Ingrid’s shoulder. 

“No,” she said quietly into Ingrid’s ear. “Just me. You’re the first person I get to do this on.” 

Ingrid laughed nervously. She could feel Annette’s pleased little smile as she pulled away. 

“Okay, get on the floor. We’ll do your legs next,” she said with her usual pep. 

Without the use of her arms, Ingrid found keeping her balance while she kneeled to be a little difficult, but she got down regardless. Annette picked up the dowel. 

“Whats that for?” Ingrid asked. 

Annette just smiled, tiny and polite, but that only made it more menacing. She kneeled down at Ingrid’s side and slid the dowel just behind her knees. She maneuvered Ingrid, spreading her legs apart, and went for a second length of rope. She began looping it around her knees, around the dowel, fixing them together and Ingrid’s legs in place. 

Splayed open like that, Ingrid was exposed. Cool air breathed over her open wide cunt. She heated from a full body flush. 

Annette hummed happily to herself, a song only she knew the words to, as she began to tie Ingrid’s thighs to her calves. Intricate knots lined up and down Ingrid’s legs, pulling into more diamonds. 

“Okay last little bit,” Annette said. “This maybe a little bit uncomfortable, so let me know if its too much.”

“Mmhmm,” Ingrid squeaked. 

Annetted quickly bound Ingrid’s ankles together, pulling them so they were flush with one another. The effect of it spread Ingrid open wider, despite the way her knees were fixed in place. Annette took the last remaining bits of rope from Ingrid’s wrists and pulled her down, tying the short ends to the bindings at Ingrid’s feet. She bent back like a bow, her whole body on display. 

Rope hugged snug along her body, only slightly digging into her skin. It pushed up her ass, hugged her breasts, dug into the corners of her thighs. The dowel was a punishing pressure on her knees, holding her in place. She wriggled, feeling her confines holding her still, and felt completely at Annette’s mercy. 

Annette walked around in front of her, hands on her hips, satisfied with her work. 

“There,” she said. “Done.” 

“Ah,” was all Ingrid could manage. 

Annette’s eyes swept over her and it was so much more exposing than the actual position she was in. Annette moved closer and Ingrid’s already racing heart pounded heavier. Annette kneeled down in front of her. 

“See,” she said quietly. “It only accentuates.”

She ran her hands over the ropes, over Ingrid’s stomach where the diamond shapes lay, up her sides and over the ridges that ran to her back, down the ropes that curved over the shape of her hips, pointing in a perfect arrow to her crotch. 

Annette’s eyes flicked back up to her. 

“So what do you think?” she asked. 

Ingrid whimpered. 

Annette giggled, the same little laugh she always had, and Ingrid knew she’d never be able to hear it the same again. Annette’s hands traveled up Ingrid’s body until she cupped her face. 

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip. 

“Oh please do,” Ingrid breathed. 

Annette’s lips were soft and sweet. She tasted just as she smelled, honey sweets on her tongue. Annette breathed in Ingrid’s already sparse air, hovering over her, curving her own body to match the bend she had forced on Ingrid. Ingrid’s hands twitched and her fingers curled into fists, desperate to touch Annette in return, but there was no fighting those restraints. 

Annette pulled back and danced her fingers over Ingrid’s lips, pulling on them this way and that. 

“Its such a quality lipstick,” she said. “Doesn’t smudge at all.”

Ingrid’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Annette’s eyes travelled downward, taking in the bent back body on display. Her hands moved with her gaze, once again following the trail of rope, until she found Ingrid’s puffed out breasts. She took a tit in each hand, gently cupping them, lifting their weight up against Ingrid’s chest. 

“You have such a nice body,” Annette said, her eyes never leaving Ingrid’s tits. She took handfuls of them, one at a time, digging her fingers into the soft flesh. 

“Ah, th-thank you–AH!” 

Annette leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to Ingrid’s pert nipple. So soft and airy that it might not have happened at all, but with Ingrid’s senses on overdrive, the mere thought of it was a shock to her system. When Annette’s lips wrapped around Ingrid’s nipple and _sucked_ , it damn near killed her. And when Annette _bit down_ , Ingrid might as well be in heaven. 

Ingrid moaned and gasped and whimpered and whined. She wriggled against her bonds. She couldn’t help it, every movement had become involuntary. 

Annette’s teeth dug in more. She twisted and plucked and pulled at Ingrid’s other nipple. She smiled around Ingrid’s tit at the half moan half scream she managed to yank free. When she was satisfied, she pulled back and gave the abused nipple one last flick of the tongue. Ingrid jolted and gasped. 

Annette’s big eyes looked back up to her tormented friend, before placing a soft kiss to her sternum, just inside the diamond. Then another to the next diamond down. Then the one that encircled Ingrid’s belly button. Until she was half bowed between Ingrid’s legs. Annette looked up again, teasing Ingrid by merely _being right there_. 

She languidly reached up Ingrid’s body before placing a hand on her shoulder and coaxing her to lie back. Ingrid followed her guidance, leaning down to laying down. She rested on her arms, her legs completely folded, her back against her heels. The dowel dug into her knees but the second Annette’s tongue touched her clit, it didn’t matter anymore. 

Annette dove in like a woman dying of thirst. 

Her tongue lapped at Ingrid’s clit, circled it, tormented Ingrid. She ran her tongue up and down between the folds of Ingrid’s cunt. She tasted inside. Ingrid arched her back, the dowel clattered against the floor as she wriggled. 

She moaned. Long and loud. It didn’t matter who heard. 

Annette slipped two fingers inside Ingrid, dancing and wiggling in the heat and wet. She stroked and fucked Ingrid with those fingers, lapping at her clit as she did. She picked up the pace going faster and faster, ramming into Ingrid, eliciting filthy squelching sounds. Pulling forth more and more moans, louder and louder groans. 

And with a rasping, crackling scream, Ingrid came. 

Her whole body danced and twitched. She gasped uncontrollably as her cunt twitched around Annette’s fingers. Fingers still fucked Ingrid as she came, carrying her through it, riding her with overstimulation. The dowel drummed out a sporadic beat in time with Ingrid’s soft mewls and ragged gasps. 

The orgasm died down. Annette flicked her fingers one more time and Ingrid’s body hiccupped. 

Ingrid lay spent on her bedroom floor, bound and splayed and satisfied. Annette crawled up her body, wearing her usual sweet smile, smeared with Ingrid’s wet. 

“So,” she said. “How do you feel?”

Ingrid tried to catch her breath. 

“Pretty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually drew reference for this haha Like a mini map to tell me where these ropes were going. Strangest story outline :D 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	4. Ignatz/Raphael - public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if we just took care of it here?” he asked. 
> 
> Ignatz sat up again, ramrod straight. He bristled, his shoulders hiked up to his ears. 
> 
> “What?” he asked, a little too loud. A knight walking by looked over to see what the fuss was about, but otherwise kept moving. 
> 
> “I’ll do you and you’ll do me,” Raphael said. “You know, under the table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  PUBLIC SEX**
> 
> Spoilers: dear sweet Raph gets lots of love this kinktober. He deserves it. 
> 
> And ding dang I discovered I really like writing Ignatz
> 
> This ship needs more love and all I can give them in embarrassing boners
> 
> Enjoy

Ignatz sat curled up in a far corner of the training grounds. He was head down in his sketchbook, a pencil balanced between his fingers, holding it at the far end. He ran the lead up and down the page, shading in the core shadow on a muscle. He looked up again at his subject. 

It was hard to pinpoint an exact pose when Raphael moved. The raw energy and strength in every blow. The sheen of sweat on a bare back. Big hands that grappled and grabbed and threw. All of it was fascinating. 

It was good practice for short sketches, really loosen up the arm to capture the essence of movement, but Ignatz loved the long sketches the best. The detail work, the fine tuning, capturing his subject to their very core. 

He did the best he could, but he could never quite commit Raphael to paper. 

He sat in his corner and merely watched Raph work. His enemy, half his size, went down with a sickening thud. Raphael laughed, hearty and full, and helped the other knight back to his feet. He looked up and his gaze met Ignatz’s. 

Ignatz was staring. 

Face filling up with red, he buried himself back into his sketch. In an attempt to get back to his task, he gripped the pencil too tight and pressed thick black lines into the page. The paper ripped. 

“Shit,” Ignatz hissed. 

“Is everything alright?” 

Ignatz looked up to find Raphael towering over him, bare chested and still catching his breath, sun glinting off the sweat on his brow, chest, arms. . . 

“Yeah everything’s fine,” Ignatz said. His voice cracked, giving him away, but Raph, sweet Raph, either didn’t notice or pretended not to. 

He leaned over to look at Ignatz’s drawing. 

“Oh wow,” he said. “Thats really good.” 

He seemed to say that every time. Ignatz pushed his knees up higher and hid his smile. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“I was about to head down to the dining hall for some lunch,” Raphael said with a thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna come along?” 

Of course Ignatz would come along, Raphael didn’t need to ask. But still, Raphael held out his hand and Ignatz took it. As he always did. Raphael threw his shirt back on and off they went. 

They walked side by side, amicably chatting about whatever came to mind. The weather, what would be for lunch, repairs, weaponry. Ignatz’s art. 

“I always end up looking so good in your drawings,” Raphael commented. “Do I really look like that?” 

Ignatz tapped his closed sketchbook at his side. 

“I try to draw what I see,” he said, unable to look at Raphael’s beaming smile. “Maybe not quite, I still have weak spots to my drawing.” 

“No you’re excellent!” 

Ignatz tucked his chin to hide his grin. 

They got lunch together and found a quiet corner to sit in. A spot Ignatz would have preferred, so that he could observe and just let the flow of the crowd walk past him. Raphael was normally excited to sit with his friends and comrades. He would boisterously laugh his way through conversation. Ignatz would always follow him regardless. 

But that day, Raphael seemed content to sit in the corner that Ignatz liked. 

They sat together in an uncharacteristic quiet, the sounds of the hall fading into nothing more than background noise. Ignatz felt the warmth of Raphael’s body next to his, listened to his quiet chewing as he worked through lunch, could still smell the sweat from training. 

His mind drifted, thinking back to all the details he couldn’t capture. The fierce determination on Raphael’s face. Should it have been his stunning smile or a terrifying look of intimidation? The breadth of his back, strained with exertion. Or maybe it should have been from the front, the swell of his chest. His thick thighs and strong arms. Big enough to manhandle any enemy or . . . Ignatz. 

He swallowed and felt his body overheat. He fixated on his food. 

Later. Those thoughts should be saved for later. Maybe in the quiet of their room he could get Raphael to pose for him, if he could hold still long enough. If Ignatz could keep his hands to himself long enough. 

“Ignatz,” Raphael said. 

“Hmm!? What?” Ignatz said, jumping in place and almost dropping his fork. 

Raphael smiled down at him, nearly casting him in shadow in that tiny corner, but his smile was always nothing but pure sunshine. 

“I really appreciate you coming to visit me when I train,” he said. 

“Oh. Of course. I like coming,” Ignatz said. 

“And drawing me.” 

“I like drawing you.” Ignatz tried to make it sound normal and figured he failed. Thoughts of drawing Raphael in far less clothing still ran through his head. 

“I uh. . . I really like your attention.” Raphael twirled his fork on his almost empty plate. 

Ignatz could feel his face heat. 

“O-oh, yeah sorry about that,” he said. 

“No! I mean it,” Raphael said. “I really like when you look at me.” 

Ignatz stared wide eyed down at his plate. So he’d been found out huh? He rested his hands in his lap, thinking about just how much he stared at Raphael. He slowly looked up at him side long. 

“I mean.” Raphael looked up and down the hall. “I _really_ like it when you look at me.” 

He scooted back from the bench and looked down at his lap. Ignatz followed his gaze and saw that Raphael was in a far worse state than his own. A large cock tented pants that suddenly looked far too tight. 

Ignatz itched to get his hands on it.

Instead he balked. 

"Raphael," he hissed, looking around the dining hall.

“I’m sorry,” Raphael whined. “I couldn’t help it! I just got to thinking about how you looked at me and maybe things we could do later and before you know it. . .” 

Raphael motioned to his hard on. 

Ignatz’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. He white knuckled his fork. He looked around the room to see who was looking and found no interest from anyone. 

“You seem to be interested too,” Raphael laughed. 

Ignatz saw his pants also held no secrets. He completely and totally blamed Raphael. His head thunked as it hit the table. 

“Uuuugggghhh,” he groaned. “What are we going to do?” 

Raphael shrugged and took another bite. How could he keep eating? 

“Maybe if we leave now no one will notice?” he said. 

“Someone will notice,” Ignatz said, looking at the size of Raphael. “Maybe they’ll just go away?” 

“I don’t think so,” Raphael sulked. 

“Just think of math,” Ignatz said. 

Raphael gave him a pitiful look and Ignatz realized how foolish that suggestion was. He looked up at his sometimes lover and sighed, the heaving breath visible throughout his whole form. Raphael was staring down at him and it was obvious what he was hungry for. 

“What if we just took care of it here?” he asked. 

Ignatz sat up again, ramrod straight. He bristled, his shoulders hiked up to his ears. 

“What?” he asked, a little too loud. A knight walking by looked over to see what the fuss was about, but otherwise kept moving. 

“I’ll do you and you’ll do me,” Raphael said. “You know, under the table.” 

He made a jerking motion in the air. Ignatz slapped his hand down. 

“Thats a horrible idea!” Ignatz hissed. 

“No it isn’t,” Raphael said. “Its better than walking out of here with hard ons.”

Ignatz fretted. He bit his lip and looked around the hall again. They were alone in that dark corner, no one was looking their way, the table skirts were low enough that no one would see unless they were crouched low. 

It was stupid how that was the best solution. 

“Okay,” Ignatz said and ignored the way Raphael beamed. “Just make it quick.” 

Raphael placed a heavy hand on Ignatz’s thigh and quickly moved up and in. Ignatz’s breathing picked up and he stared at that large hand, those calloused fingers and bitten fingernails. When his touch slid over the strained part of Ignatz’s pants, Ignatz swallowed and jerked his head to look anywhere but Raphael’s hand. His own snapped over to Raphael’s pants. 

Raphael smiled fondly, that sweet thing he did when hovered over Ignatz in his bed. 

“Eyes forward,” Ignatz said strained. 

“Oh. Right.” 

Raphael looked ahead, his face skewed into an obvious mask. The kind he wore when pretending to pay attention during meetings. His hand dug into Ignatz’s pants and wrapped around his dick. Ignatz bit his lip to quell any sounds, but a whine squeaked past. He toyed with the tie on Raphael’s training pants and scrambled to slip his hand inside. 

Raphael tried jerking Ignatz, but between the big hand and his lack of restraint, there wasn’t any room. 

“I need to take it out,” he whispered far too loudly. 

“O-okay,” Ignatz said. 

Raphael worked Ignatz’s pants down and he shifted as Raphael pushed. His dick hit the cold air of the dining room and he bowed his head, his eyes closed. Raphael began working him over, moving with too much gusto. 

“Ignatz,” Raphael whispered, being far too conspicuous. “Eyes forward.” 

Ignatz whined and looked up. His brow pinched in pleasurable pain. He scanned over the crowd in the dining hall, looking at every person one by one, looking for anyone who might have noticed. No one was interested and hopefully it stayed that way. 

“Ignatz,” Raphael pleaded. 

He humped his hips up into Ignatz’s still hand, shaking the table in the process. Ignatz sucked in a breath and his hand quickly jerked and tightened. Raphael’s dick sprung free of his pants, standing high and proud like a mast. He groaned, too loud. 

“Shhhh,” Ignatz hissed, all while moving his hand as quick as possible. 

“I’m sorry,” Raphael whispered. 

Raphael breathed like a bull through his nose. Ignatz’s face was heated to a lovely shade of red. Their hands moved, hidden under the table, the only evidence was the slight jerks of their shoulders. 

Raphael’s hand moved like Ignatz had asked him to. When they first started with a more intimate relationship, Raphael had been clumsy, too rough, a little too hard. Ignatz had asked him for finesse, for sensuality. He had learned how to teach Raphael how to move his hand, how to start slow and work his way up, to listen for Ignatz’s tell tale sounds. 

Right then, Ignatz wanted none of that. 

Raphael smeared precum over the head of Ignatz’s dick, looking for more lubrication over his skin. He pulled on his skin, tightened his grip is sensual pulses. Ignatz hung his head again and picked up the pace on Raphael’s cock, trying so hard to finish this.

He looked up at Raphael to find the big man looking back down. Sweet and gentle and all the things Ignatz loved about him. 

“I want to kiss you,” Raphael said. 

Ignatz whimpered. 

“I want to touch you,” he whispered. “All over.” 

Raphael grinned. His hand moved quicker, falling back to his own blessed ways. 

“I want to draw you,” Ignatz kept going. “I want to look at you.” 

The giddy noise of joy Raphael made was too loud. A person eating at another table looked over. They cocked their head in curiosity, trying to assess what they were looking at. 

Ignatz’s hand snapped back to his side. He poked at his food. 

“Ignatz,” Raphael whined, leaning in and going harder on Ignatz’s dick.

“Eat something,” Ignatz said under his breath. “Look normal.” 

Raphael almost didn’t, but he picked up his fork and shoveled a few too large bites into his mouth, all while still jerking Ignatz off. Ignatz spread his legs wider, felt Raphael’s big hand bump against his thighs. How he wanted to be straddled across the big man’s lap, to have him jerking him like that, to have his hands trail down his back and to his ass, to feel him up. 

Ignatz took another bite. 

The stranger’s eyes moved away, turning back to their conversation. Ignatz slid his hand back under the table and fumbled to take hold of Raphael’s cock. 

The tension built between Ignatz’s legs. Muscles pulled at the base of his dick, readying themselves. 

“I’m going to cum,” Ignatz whispered. 

Raphael’s arm strained, the muscles in it swelling as he jerked harder. 

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered leaning in. “I really want to kiss you.” 

He leaned in too close. His breath was hot on the side of Igntaz’s face. His voice was too loud in his ear. Ignatz almost turned his head to acquiesce to Raphael’s pleas, but that would definitely give them away. Instead he bowed his head, clamped a hand over his mouth, breathed through his fingers. His eyes squeezed shut and his focus became singular on that hand around his dick. 

He yelped behind his muffling hand, jolting in place. He hit the table with his knee and his fork clattered to the floor. Cum was milked from his dick and he was sure some hit the underside of the table. He bowed his head low, almost hitting the table again. A sticky mess dribbled onto his pants.

When it was over, Ignatz blinked bleary eyes open to look out over the dining hall. Everything was hazed over and he couldn’t quite make out who saw what. But in that moment it didn’t really matter. 

“Ignatz,” Raphael whispered in his ear. “Please.” 

Ignatz had stopped touching him. Catching his breath, he removed his hand from his mouth and leaned closer into Raphael. 

“I dropped my fork,” he muttered and ducked his head under the table. 

He swiftly dropped his mouth around Raphael’s dick. Yet again, Raphael was a little too loud, a little too obvious. His hand clamped on the back of Ignatz’s head, almost pushing him all the way down. At least it kept him out of view.

Ignatz moved quickly, his mouth wet and open, slobbering sloppily in an effort to get this done. There was no finesse, there was no seduction. It was pure utility. And that was all Raphael needed. 

He didn’t last long. 

Raphael managed to keep quiet as cum spurted into the back of Ignatz’s throat. He closed his eyes, loosened his jaw, and relaxed, taking in everything Raphael gave him with a practiced ease. With his eyes closed and Raphael’s big gentle hand on the back of his head, Ignatz could have been anywhere. 

He was in bliss. 

He lapped up the last of the cum, making sure Raphael was clean. The taste of Raphael’s cum and his exertion from training was a favorite of Ignatz’s. His hand groped along the floor until he found the fork and sat back up. He swiped the corner of his mouth with his tongue before he could really think about it. 

Raphael was staring at him, eyes wide and unblinking, face flushed and breathing hard enough to heave his ample chest. A slow smile twitched at the corners of his lips. 

“Ignatz,” he said. “That was–”

Ignatz placed a finger to his lips and Raphael’s jaw clicked shut. Ignatz went for the napkin on the table and began patting down his lap, attempting to make it look at least half way normal. He glanced up quickly. 

The stranger at the other table was staring at them again, this time mouth open, aghast. Ignatz looked away, trying desperately not to blush. He failed. 

He tucked himself back into his pants and cleared his throat. 

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice warbling. 

Raphael only stared more. Finally he blinked, seeming to come to his sense. 

“Um I thought it was clear that I–”

“With lunch,” Ignatz said. 

“Oh.” Raphael looked to his plate, all but licked clean. “Yes. I guess.” 

“Do you wanna go?” Ignatz said. Then he dropped his voice and tucked his chin to his chest. “To my room? I would like to . . . draw you.” 

“Yes!” Raphael almost jumped to his feet, but Ignatz grabbed his sleeve. 

“Raphael,” he said with a sigh. “Put it away.” 

“Oh. Yes you’re right.” 

Raphael tucked his dick back into his pants before all but dragging Ignatz out of the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> That's all I got
> 
> Just 
> 
> :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	5. Hubert/Ferdinand - groping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want me to touch you, Ferdinand?” Hubert asked. 
> 
> Ferdinand stalled again. Then nodded fervently. 
> 
> “Say it.” 
> 
> Hubert’s hand hovered over the tent in Ferdinand's slacks. 
> 
> “. . . I want you to touch me, Hubert,” Ferdinand whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  GROPING  
> OVER THE CLOTHES  
> FINGIES IN THE MOUTH  
> LIGHT D/s  
> CHOKING   
> LACK OF AFTER CARE**
> 
> Not to color your view of this fic before you read it, but I feel I didn't do them justice. This was like dipping my toe in ferdibert but then I saw all this lovely soft art and read these beautiful fics and I just wrote this aggro smut. But it was already written and I'm lazy sooooooo
> 
> This ship is one of the reasons I'm doing fluffcember. I wanted to give them soff. And I can tell you, it's pretty dang soft. I've already started it and I'm a little proud ☺️
> 
> But now
> 
> Have some filth

Garreg Mach had its own certain kind of beauty. In its way. The glistening white stone, the perfectly aligned floral arrangements, the sweeping vistas seen from the bridge. It was a breathtaking feat of engineering and design, admirable at the very least. The sheer blood sweat and tears that had gone into its construction could not be denied. Aesthetically, it was pleasing. 

An early morning stroll was one of those moments where Hubert could properly take in such beauty. 

If it weren’t for the annoying drone. 

“And furthermore, one befitting the title of noble should be more aware of his surroundings and those around him,” Ferdinand kept going on and on and on. “The crass language you utilize is belittling, to say the least, and could be considered an attack in the wrong scenarios. One day you may say something to the wrong person and _then_ what will you do? Such uncouth behaviour could be dangerous and could harm not only _your_ social standing but Edelgard’s as well. And that is what you truely care about, _hmm_?”

Ferdinand had been following Hubert since the stables. All Hubert had said was some off hand comment about _’playing around in the muck’_ and that apparently had been offensive enough to send the pampered little lord off. Was it so much his fault that Ferdinand spent all his time in the stables, cleaning up after such unkempt creatures? He should take a page out of his own book. 

Hubert picked up the pace. 

“And I should have you know that stable work is not ‘muck.’” Goddess, did Ferdinand’s voice grate on Hubert’s last nerve. “To work with such magnificent creatures is more than just a right, it is a privilege.” 

“One granted to common folk and servants,” Hubert muttered. “I would think that you’d want to _rise above_ such things.” 

“There is no shame in doing manual labor!” Ferdinand’s voice cracked. “At least in this regard. As nobles, it is not that we are higher than the work of common folk, it is that we can do what others cannot. We do more for the people. And it is our duty, no, our Goddess given right to– Are you even listening?” 

Hubert walked off the stone laden path onto the grass. He slunk into the shadows underneath the bridge that lead to the cathedral, his feet bent at an awkward angle and his legs pumping to keep himself upright. He scuttled down the steep hill, kicking up grass as he moved quicker, drawn down by gravity. The enormous bridge blotted out the sun. It was a space he liked to go to think, one where no one thought to follow, one where he could be left alone. 

Except for that morning. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand insisted. Hubert could hear his quick footfalls follow behind him. “Hubert! Are you listening to me!? This is very important and could help you in the future. I only want to ensure you do not step in the wrong social trap!” 

Hubert had stepped in it alright. 

Under the bridge was hidden and cool. Dew still clung to blades of grass, yet to be washed away by the sun. The cold would be coming on soon and frost kissed the edges. Hubert had hoped such an uncomfortable atmosphere would discourage the spoiled brat’s stalking, but he was determined. 

“Hubert! Don’t walk away from me when I am talking to you!” 

Hubert stopped short and whirled in place. Ferdinand hadn’t been expecting that and almost ran into his quarry. His arms windmilled in an attempt to stop, almost running into Hubert. 

Hubert glared down at the so called lord. 

“What,” he sneered. “Do you want?”

Ferdinand attempted to straighten himself upright. He swallowed heavily and, digging deep for dignity, brushed his bangs out of his eyes. 

“I only wish to help you,” he said. 

Hubert turned to full face the pest. 

“This,” he said. “Is not helping.” 

“Of course it is.” Ferdinand stomped his foot. “The world expects more from someone so well bred and it is only fair that someone on your side should demand that you rise to the occasion.” 

“Well bred?” Hubert raised a brow. 

“Yes.” 

“So I am a horse now?” 

Ferdinand turned a fetching shade of red that clashed with his hair. 

“Of course not! I am only saying that we are of a noble birth and as such we should both act like it,” Ferdinand said. 

“We?” Hubert asked. “You’re clumping yourself in with the likes of myself?” 

“I– Stop distorting my words!” Ferdinand said. 

“You’re just as ‘uncouth’ as I am?” Hubert took a step forward. 

“That is not what I said and you know it!” Ferdinand took a step back. 

Hubert leaned in and stopped, inspecting the red on dear Ferdie’s face. At the sudden proximity, Ferdinand stumbled backwards and hit the arching wall of the bridge leg. He yelped as cold stone hit his back. Hubert only leered closer. 

“Why did you follow me, Lord Ferdinand?” he asked evenly. 

“I already told you why,” Ferdinand said. His blush deepened as Hubert grew closer. 

Hubert cocked his head, inspecting Ferdinand like an insect under a microscope. Ferdinand tried to meet his gaze, tried to maintain it, but his eyes ended up darting away. He looked to the side, then down, tucking his chin in. It was all too darling. 

“Why,” Hubert said. “Did you follow me, Ferdinand?” 

Ferdinand looked back up to Hubert. He couldn’t stay there for very long and his eyes drooped heavy, trailing down Hubert’s long body. He realized he was staring and quickly looked away again. 

Hubert smiled. The boy was all too obvious. 

“Do you want me to tell you why?” Hubert said. He shifted closer, enough that he could feel Ferdinands ample body heat. 

When Ferdinand didn’t say anything, Hubert rested his hand on the wall, next to Ferdinand’s head and filled his vision. He used his height to loom over Ferdinand, but he was already cowering into himself. Growing smaller under Hubert’s undivided attention. 

“Do you need me to tell you?” Hubert asked. 

He slid his thigh between Ferdinand’s and Ferdinand gasped. It was nothing compared to the choking noise he made when Hubert pressed into the heated spot between Ferdinand’s legs. Hubert undulated, moving his leg against that point of contact, and a bulge began to grow beneath Ferdinand’s clothes. 

“Do you need?” Hubert leaned in, breathing against Ferdinand’s skin. 

“Stop,” Ferdinand whispered. 

Hubert stopped. He pulled away, his face and his leg, so that he was no longer touching Ferdinand at all. Ferdinand stood underneath Hubert’s shadow, his hands clasped against his chest. He looked up to Hubert, his chin still tucked low, face still red. His eyes quickly darted away. 

“Stop?” Hubert asked, amused. “Is that what you really want?” 

Ferdinand hung his head in shame. 

Hubert reached his free hand down, hovering somewhere over Ferdinand's hip. 

“Push me away then,” Hubert said. “I won’t fight you. All it will take is one good shove and this never happened.” 

Ferdinand searched the ground. His hands wrung one over the other. Slowly, they unclasped. Slowly, they dropped to his sides. Slowly, he rested them flat against the stone wall. 

Hubert grinned, feral and wide. 

“Do you _really_ want me to stop?” he asked, smooth as silk. 

Ferdinand still didn’t look up. Too ashamed to meet Hubert’s eyes. He closed his eyes and shook his head no. 

“Do you want me to touch you, Ferdinand?” Hubert asked. 

Ferdinand stalled again. Then nodded fervently. 

“Say it.” 

Hubert’s hand hovered over the tent in Ferdinand's slacks. 

“. . . I want you to touch me, Hubert,” Ferdinand whispered. 

Never let it be said that Hubert wasn’t generous. He rested his palm flat against Ferdinand’s erection and the noise the man made was nothing short of delicious. Hubert moved his hand once, massaged the enclosed dick just once, and one would have thought that Ferdinand had approached nirvana. Ridiculously wanton, Hubert would almost say his moan was over the top, if he hadn’t seen Ferdinand at his most over the top. 

Hubert watched with fascination as Ferdinand’s head lolled, as another moan escaped his throat. He felt that hard dick under his hand only grow harder, pushing and straining against the cloth, desperate for more attention. Hubert sought out its shape, looking to trace it, see if he could visualize it through touch alone. 

“Hubert,” Ferdinand panted. How quickly he was undone. 

There was still more that Hubert want to play with. 

He grabbed the corner of Ferdinand’s jacket cover and yanked. Buttons snapped, threads broke, one of the black beads flew to the ground. Offense masked Ferdinand’s face again. 

“Hubert! How dare–”

“Seems theres more of you that wants attention,” Hubert said, disregarding anything Ferdinand had to say. 

Ferdinand’s white undershirt could not hide a single detail. Two pert nipples strained against it, hard from the sexual attention and the chill of the air. Hubert rested two fingers on them and circled the nubs, playing with them as he would a toy. Ferdinand gasped, his shoulders tensed up to his ears, his head dropped again. 

“Ah, another thing you enjoy,” Hubert said, uncovering hidden secrets. “Or is it that you just like contact just about anywhere.” 

Hubert took the nubs between his fingers and thumbs, twisting them, rubbing them, pressing just a little too hard. 

“Or is it _my_ touch you enjoy?” Hubert oozed. 

Hubert’s grip tightened, just to listen to Ferdinand whine. He pulled and the grip through the shirt wasn’t enough to stay on. One hand slid off, yanking just a little too hard at the last minute, and Ferdinand’s breathless little gasp was more than satisfactory. 

Oh how he wanted it. How obvious it was now. How easy it was for Hubert to break him down into tiny, needy pieces. 

He spat on Ferdinand’s shirt. 

Ferdinand gasped in offense. 

“Hubert!” he hissed.

Hubert disregarded him and proceeded to rub his saliva into the fabric, just enough to wet it, just enough to see the little pink nub through the cloth. 

“There you are,” Hubert said with a grin and flicked it. 

Ferdinand whined, his shoulders hiking up once more. 

“Thats it,” Hubert cooed. 

He pinched Ferdinand’s very visible nipple again, his other hand once again finding the strained cock. So full and heavy behind layers of clothes. He went back to toying with it, stroking it, using it as his own personal plaything. Ferdinand was _his_ to play with. 

“Hubert,” Ferdinand whispered, reach out to stroke Hubert’s face. 

Hubert grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the wall. Gone was any mirth, replaced with nothing but a cold steely eyed glare. 

“You asked me to touch you,” he said. “I do not recall asking the same.” 

Ferdinand looked pathetically at Hubert, his lower lip quivering. But when Hubert pulled away, Ferdinand’s hand stayed up against the wall. To his credit, the man didn’t move. Satisfied that Ferdinand would not try that again, Hubert went back to his ministrations. He used both hands this time to feel up Ferdinand’s cock, one dipping between his legs, pushing up on the fabric, finding a nestled sack. Ferdinand moaned again as Hubert ran one hand up his strained shaft, the other fondling hidden balls, returning to a methodical fondling that was more curiosity than want. 

Then he pushed. 

Ferdinand’s eyes opened wide and he shouted in pain. His hand slapped over his mouth in an effort to hide it. 

Hubert pushed up on his sack, placing pressure. Pushed down his dick flat against his thigh. A pain that Ferdinand was suddenly very much aware that he liked. 

Hubert sighed, still working Ferdinand over, then looked up at him. He tilted his head in curiosity and took his hand off Ferdinand’s sack. He peeled away the offending hand that covered Ferdinand's mouth. 

“If you need a gag,” he said, sticking his fingers at Ferdinand’s lips. “I’d be more than happy to provide.” 

There was no resistance when he slid them inside. Ferdinand succumbed to a state of relaxation and bliss as Hubert’s gloved hand stroked over his tongue. Hubert pat his tongue as if it were a prized animal. A matching rhythm was found, in perfect sync between the hand around Ferdinand’s cock and the two fingers stuffing their way down his throat. 

Ferdinand’s eyes rolled back, entirely too pleased. Even as Hubert shoved his fingers deeper and deeper, even as Ferdinand gagged on them. 

“Depraved,” Hubert said. 

He switched it up. Cupping Ferdinands face in a caged mask, shoved his two middle fingers into Ferdinand’s mouth and began pumping them in and out, fucking his face with his hand. Ferdinand’s bliss was interrupted and he choked on the quick moving fingers, but otherwise didn’t move. 

After all, if he shoved Hubert off, this would all end. 

Hubert slid his hand off Ferdinand’s dick and Ferdinand whined in regret. His head flopped heavily, wanting nothing more but for that hand to return. His fingers dug into the wall behind him in frustration. 

Hubert leaned in close, just shy of pressing his body up against Ferdinand’s, and instead grabbed a handful of ample ass. Ferdinand gasped, his body arching away from the wall, pressing up against Hubert’s. Hubert allowed it, choosing instead to massage the flesh underneath his hand. His fingers dug deep into the soft muscle, feeling and groping and probing. All the while fucking Ferdinand’s face with his fingers. Ferdinand’s tongue danced as he settled down, moaning around Hubert’s onslaught. His moan turned into a whimper when Hubert finally pulled his hand free of Ferdinand’s face, leaving him with a trail of drool dribbling down his chin. 

Both hands cupped Ferdinand’s ass. Pulsating, squeezing in alternating grasps, toying with him like a cat. He peered over Ferdinand’s shoulder to better watch the folds of his ass squeeze between fingers, push up, bunch up in new and delicious ways. 

Not to leave the boy completely wanting, he pushed his thigh between Ferdinand’s again, giving some kind of pressure. Ferdinand couldn’t keep still, grinding down on it, rubbing his dick up and down Hubert’s thigh, like some kind of animal. Hubert drove up into his crotch, granting him blessed friction, but just keeping shy of becoming fully flush against the lord. 

He didn’t need Ferdinand knowing just how much this was affecting him too. 

Hubert grinned at it all, at just how broken this man was. 

He slid his hand up the crack of Ferdinand’s ass, pushing the cloth between the large globes, accenting it all the more. Both hands, one after another, slid up that crack. He grabbed the base of Ferdinand’s ass, the tip of his belt line, and simultaneously pushed and pulled up. Ferdinand went on his toes, gasping in short quick breaths as his pants were pulled taut against his dick. For good measure, Hubert gave one more fierce tug, really driving Ferdinand’s pants up the center of his ass. 

Ferdinand yelped, a tiny little thing that was more befitting a small girl. 

“Tell me how much you love this,” Hubert whispered in his ear. 

Ferdinand could only shiver and moan. 

“I. . .” he tried, Goddess did he try. But he was nothing but a shell. A thing for Hubert’s entertainment. "I love. . ." 

Hubert touched everything he could as he slid his hand over Ferdinand’s hip. One hand up his crack again, the other between his legs, sliding along the expanse of empty space just behind his dick. Hubert pushed on both and watched as Ferdinand’s head lolled uncontrollably. 

It was while Hubert was still kneading his ass that Ferdinand acted. 

“Hubert,” he whimpered, leaning forward, forgetting himself again. 

He almost made it, his lips a hair’s breadth from Hubert’s, when his attacker pulled back. 

Ferdinand’s eyes were wide, his brow pinched together in pity. His hair mussed and a trail of drool at the corners of his lips, he truly was a pitiful sight, but Hubert didn’t have tolerance for such a move.

What had Ferdinand imagined this encounter to be like? Did he expect sweet kisses and little empty words of devotion and love? Did he expect the stories of knights and lords wooing ladies and rescuing princesses? Was Hubert to swoon and fall into his arms, to be taken away by Ferdinand, swept off his feet? 

Well. . . maybe some other time. That wouldn’t be so bad. 

This time, Ferdinand needed just a little more care. 

Hubert clamped his hand around Ferdinand’s throat and slammed him back against the wall again. 

“What did I say?” he growled. 

Ferdinand whimpered, but couldn’t say a word. Not with Hubert’s hand clamped around his throat. Big puppy dog eyes pleading for anything that Hubert would be willing to give him. 

Hubert could give him the world. 

Hubert leaned his weight against Ferdinand’s throat. His hand found its way over Ferdinand’s dick, rubbing fiercely against it, giving him that good friction. 

Ferdinand made tiny squeaking noises of a dying animal. His tongue danced in an open mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head. He gagged. 

Hubert waited for his lips to shift from pale to blue. He leaned in. 

“Well,” he purred, not sure that Ferdinand could even hear him. “Maybe just a little.” 

Hubert breathed against Ferdinand’s breathless lips. His lips ghosted in the world’s smallest kiss. He licked at pale skin, perfectly smooth from a careful care routine. His hand clawed around Ferdinand’s dick, holding it thick and tight as if it were out in the cold air. 

Hubert let go of Ferdiand’s throat. He gasped for air. His whole body convulsed. And he came. 

Cum stained Ferdinand’s pretty pants, darkening as his dick twitched within the confines. For good measure, Hubert jerked him once, twice, just enough to milk the last of his seed out of Ferdinand, just long enough to overstimulate the man. 

Ferdinand’s legs shook before they gave out on him. He fell to the ground, frozen grass crunching under his weight. He stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, as his body shivered, coming down from his orgasm. Bangs flopped uselessly into his eyes and he made no move to fix them. 

Hubert leaned down to wipe his drool slobbered glove off on Ferdinand’s face. 

“I’m always happy to oblige,” he said. “Thank you _so_ much for your help Ferdinand.” 

He turned and left the lord sitting dazed in the grass. He’d have a lot to think about after all and that spot was a good place to think. It was beautiful there. Ferdinand only added to it. In his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filth :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	6. Catherine/Shamir - scissoring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine was not her wife. 
> 
> Shamir walked next to Catherine, mere inches apart. She glanced down to Catherine’s hand for the millionth time that night. Her own fingers twitched to hold it. 
> 
> They were not together. It wasn’t a date. 
> 
> Catherine was not her wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  SCISSORING  
> DOUBLE ENDED DILDO  
> TOE SUCKING**
> 
> They are canon, your honor

Catherine was not her wife. 

Shamir walked next to Catherine, mere inches apart. She glanced down to Catherine’s hand for the millionth time that night. Her own fingers twitched to hold it. 

They were not together. It wasn’t a date. 

Catherine was not her wife. 

They were merely two colleagues who had gone out to dinner together. Partners on the battlefield, not in romance. A mercenary who decided to stay alongside the woman with a cause out of duty, out of respect. Not out of love. 

Shamir’s eyes flitted to Catherine’s hand again. 

The night had been a quiet affair. Dinner, just the two of them, meandering out on the town. A small stand that served food they could eat on the grass. Watching the sunset and the stars appear. Walking by the water, listening to it babble. Quietly sharing glances, laughter, secrets no one could hear. 

But Catherine. Was not her wife. 

They approached Catherine’s room together. 

“Would you like to come inside?” Catherine asked, as if they might share an after dinner drink and more quiet conversation. 

“Sure,” Shamir said. 

Catherine held the door open for her and Shamir walked into the darkened room. The door clicked shut, leaving the two of them hidden in shadow, until Catherine lit her bedside lamp. The flame flickered over her body, strong arms hidden underneath long sleeves, broad shoulders and a jutting collar bone. Shamir breathed heavily as Catherine crossed the room. 

Calloused hands travelled over Shamir’s waist. A tilt of the head. Soft lips against her own. 

Because behind closed doors, Catherine was her wife. 

Shamir ran her hands up those fine tuned arms, pressed her body against Catherine’s, inhaled her air. She swallowed Catherine’s tongue. She tasted of the small dinner they had, she smelled of vanilla, she pushed on the small of Shamir’s back. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she whispered against Shamir’s lips. “How dare you dress like that.” 

Shamir grinned, knowing the effect she had on her wife. 

“I could’ve jumped you from the second I saw you,” Catherine said leaning in again. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped you,” Shamir said.

“Then where would we be?” 

Catherine tilted her head to get a better angle at Shamir’s mouth. Catherine held her face. Catherine moaned. Catherine towered over her and made Shamir feel small. Delicate. A damsel saved by her knight. 

Shamir wound her arms around her wife, pulling her in close, falling into their kiss. She melted, became soft. The only person she’d allow to see her like that. 

Catherine pulled back, a smug smile forming across her lips.

“Get on the bed,” she purred. 

A shiver ran over Shamir’s body. She watched her wife’s face, her eyes darting from one to the other, before silently compiling. As she did, she removed her coat, her corset. Catherine’s clever hands reached up to undo the straps of her necklace. Shamir breathed as her corset came off, releasing her ribs and her breasts. Before she could climb up on the bed, Catherine hugged her from behind, reached around, took a handful each. They fell down together, Shamir on all fours, Catherine straddled behind her. 

Catherine hummed and pressed her face into Shamir’s back, massaging her tits. Shamir laughed. 

“Your turn,” she said, turning her head. 

“Undress me,” Catherine said, not moving from her position. 

“So needy.” 

Shamir pushed her wife off and she flopped to the bed. Catherine practically lived in her armor, but on nights like that she dressed down. When not donned in layers upon layers of deadly steel, Catherine preferred to wear as little as possible. A thin loose shirt, loose fitting pants, all of which suited her. She wore no smallclothes, which was scandalous in some parts of Fódlan, but never to Shamir. She slid her hands up Catherine’s shirt, pushing it up and over her head, not caring what she did or did not touch. 

Once disrobed, Catherine pulled Shamir down into another kiss. They pressed up against each other, legs entwining. Catherine’s hands ran up Shamir’s spine, over her skin, tracing the few moles on her back. She slipped her hands down the back of Shamir’s tight pants, pushing them over her hips. Shamir groaned into the kiss.

It was with great reluctance that Shamir sat up off her wife. She hovered over her taking in the details. How her ponytail was coming undone, messy strands of hair haphazardly flying in whatever directions they felt like. Face flushed all the way down to her neck. Looking at Shamir like she was the greatest treasure. 

Shamir shimmied out of her pants, unlacing her boots, and Catherine sat up to work next to her. She pulled at her own pants, getting lost in them, before finally kicking them across the room. 

The second Shamir was completely nude, Catherine was on her once more. Shamir squealed as her wife pounced, pinning her to the bed, showering her with kisses. Hands flew over her body, tracing petite curves, digging into her waist and hips. Catherine found her way between Shamir’s legs and ground against her. Shamir groaned into the kiss, lifting her hips to meet Catherine’s in return. 

"Catherine," Shamir gasped. 

"Oh fuck." 

Catherine, as she usually did, took the lead. She sat upright, pushing Shamir's legs open to accommodate her. Catherine's look was predatory, the kind Shamir had seen on the battlefield. When she had a singular goal and there was nothing in this world that could stop her. 

Catherine straddled one of Shamir's legs and slid in closer. She grabbed Shamir by the knee, lifted her leg, bodily twisted her to her side, and pressed their cunts together. 

At Catherine's first grind of her hips, Shamir moaned long and loud. She arched her back, gyrated against Catherine, and grabbed her own tit in pure reaction. 

But the show was all Catherine. She was glorious and large above Shamir. The way her muscles rippled with each wave of her body, the grip she had on Shamir's leg, the ferocious grin she wore. 

Shamir had always been helpless to it. 

Catherine groaned and huffed and gasped for air. She worked her body against Shamir’s cunt, grinding into it, slopping wet between them. Shamir could only throw her head back, arch her back, ride whatever Catherine gave her. 

Soft lips kissed Shamir’s thigh. Then her knee. They travelled down her leg, higher into the air, in silent quiet praises of love and devotion. Catherine pushed Shamir’s leg closer to her chest, opened her wider for Catherine to have full access. 

Catherine’s mouth found Shamir’s foot, lips dragging against the arch, until they reached her toes. Her tongue curled around Shamir’s big toe, between them, suckling on them in her mouth. 

Shamir lost it, body arching and hips harshly meeting Catherine’s. 

“Catherine!” Shamir groaned. “Oh, Catherine!” 

Catherine smiled, eyes closed and in complete bliss. 

“Catherine, stop stop!” Shamir breathed. 

Catherine did as she was told, her mouth still wrapped around Shamir’s toe, and looked down at her lover. Shamir finally had a moment to catch her breath, chest pumping with each intake. 

“Get it,” she said. 

Catherine pulled off Shamir’s foot, still keeping her leg propped up. Comprehension was slow to set in, but once it did, that fierce devious smile split her face. 

“You sure?” she asked. 

Shamir nodded. 

Catherine bent down, pushing Shamir’s knee fully against her chest, and gave her a quick kiss. She clambored off Shamir and the bed and went across the room to where a small chest lay. Shamir propped herself up on her elbows and watched her wife, head tilting to catch every detail when Catherine bent over. 

Catherine stood up, turned around, and thunked the toy in her hand. 

It was a long, tubular shape that sat heavy in Catherine’s hand. A sheath of leather that had been filled and sewn tight. The craftsman’s work was exquisite, small seams every quarter inch or so to create ribbing in the device. A smooth center directly in the middle, perfect for a tight grip.

Catherine turned it in her hand, the leather squealing against her skin. This marital tool.

Shamir only smiled and spread her legs in invitation. 

Once again, Catherine climbed between, draping her body over her wife. Once again she met her lips, kissing her slow and languid. And once again, she ran her touch over Shamir’s cunt. 

This time, with assistance. 

The toy slid into Shamir with little resistance. Shamir moaned into the kiss, losing her breath as the dildo slid in to the tight, more and more and more. All the way in until Catherine’s fist touched her lips. 

“Fuck,” Shamir whispered. 

“You like that?” Catherine said, pumping the toy in and out of her wife. “You like when I fill you up?” 

The only response was a quiet gasp and a silent plea. 

Catherine gave her one more kiss, a cutesy little peck. Something she would do before they would leave their room, before they would go back to no longer being wed. When Catherine was not her wife. So foreign was the kiss in that moment, but it did nothing to quell the pleasure that filled Shamir’s body. 

Catherine pumped the toy in and out of Shamir and merely hovered over her, enjoying every little mewl and moan. The way her eyes closed and her neck craned. 

“Catherine,” Shamir said between ground teeth. “Fuck. Me.” 

Catherine grinned ferally. She leaned back, weaving her legs between Shamir’s. One leg over the other, the other underneath. Shamir sat up and watched as her wife slid the other end of the dildo into her cunt. Catherine finally joined Shamir in their marital bliss, pushing down on her end of the stiff faux cock. Once she was filled, Catherine undulated as he had before. 

Shamir moved along with her wife, fucking herself down on the dildo, Catherine’s hand holding onto it between them. She gasped Catherine’s name, singing her praises. Catherine’s eyes never left Shamir. 

Under that heated gaze, the dildo pounding in and out of her cunt under her own power, Shamir had nothing left to fight. She rubbed at her clit and it wasn’t long before she succumbed to the power of her own orgasm. She fell back to the bed with a moan, rubbing herself through it. Catherine didn’t let up, only pounded the dildo in her, fucking back against it. In her haze, Shamir heard Catherine cry out as she came. 

The room descended into silence. Shamir and Catherine’s breaths became a sweet harmony that flowed over one another. Their bodies a mess of tangled limbs. 

Catherine was the first to recover. Shamir didn’t want to move and Catherine pulled her end of the dildo out before slowly slipping it free of her cunt. Shamir hissed at the loss and curled up on her side. 

Catherine discarded the dildo somewhere on the floor. Cleaning it was a tomorrow job. In that moment, climbing into bed with her wife was far more important. 

Because Catherine was her wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually looked up medieval and victorian dildos for this. . . gonna let you know, don't do that. save yourself some time and just make it up. its not worth the research. I can't unlearn these things now
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	7. Hilda/Marianne - choking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t do it,” she said. “I’m sorry but I just can’t.” 
> 
> Hilda sighed and propped herself up on her arms. She looked at her girlfriend with pity and clicked her tongue. It wasn’t that she was running out of patience, but she was running out of patience. 
> 
> “I know you can do it if you just try,” she said. 
> 
> “I am trying,” Marianne said. She hid her face in her hands. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  CHOKING**
> 
> I again don't want to color your perception of this one but I suppose I'm less confident about this one? Altho did have fun writing it so hey who cares ITS FANFICTION BAYBEEEEEEE

Marianne fretted and tried to push down. 

“Little more,” Hilda said.

Marianne hummed and leaned more. 

“You almost got it,” Hilda encouraged. 

Marianne’s hands shook and she pulled away with a start. She pulled her hands to her chest and shook her head. 

“I can’t do it,” she said. “I’m sorry but I just can’t.” 

Hilda sighed and propped herself up on her arms. She looked at her girlfriend with pity and clicked her tongue. It wasn’t that she was running out of patience, but she was running out of patience. 

“I know you can do it if you just try,” she said. 

“I am trying,” Marianne said. She hid her face in her hands. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” Hilda said. “I think you’re incapable of it.” 

Marianne peeked from between her fingers. 

“Come on.” Hilda tapped her leg. “Lets try it again.” 

She settled back down on the bed, staring up at her girlfriend. Marianne blocked the light from the flickering candle on the bedside table, the front of her cast in shadow, but there was nothing anyone could do to make her look even the little bit menacing. She sighed, her hands slipping from her face, and once again wrapped them delicately around Hilda’s neck. 

There was absolutely no pressure. Her touch was feather light. Her fingers quivered. 

“A little tighter,” Hilda sang. 

Marianne’s fingers curled in around her neck until her palms touched skin. She squeaked and almost pulled away. 

“There you go, you got it,” Hilda said. “Now just squeeze a little more.” 

Marianne managed to put a little more pressure on Hilda’s neck, so that she was actually holding it this time, but there was no weight. 

“Lean into it,” Hilda instructed. 

Marianne titled forward and for the barest of second, Hilda might have considered her air cut off, but almost instantly Marianne whipped her hands back. 

“I just can’t do it!” she wailed, flapping her arms. “I’m going to hurt you!” 

Hilda’s head flopped back in irritation. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, asking the universe for patience, reminding herself just how much she loved her girlfriend. Then she sat up. 

Marianne was seated across her hips, dressed in her skirts and petticoat. This was meant to be a dry run and if it could evolve into something more it would. Hilda was a little more dressed down, anticipatory for that evolution, but it seemed that day it wouldn’t come. She cupped Marianne’s face. 

“Thats okay,” she said. 

“It really isn’t,” Marianne said. “I know you wanted this but I just don’t think I can do it.” 

Hilda sighed and smiled. Marianne really was precious and she couldn’t ever be mad at her. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against Marianne’s. 

“Do you think it would be easier if I showed you how?” she asked. 

Marianne looked away, still a bundle of nerves. 

“I guess,” she said lightly. 

“Okay.” Hilda pat Marianne’s well hidden thighs and she jumped at the surprise hit. “Switch places with me.” 

“O-okay,” Marianne said and dutifully climbed off. 

She lay on her back, hands up by her head, plaits coming undone in a few wisps of hair. Her tired big eyes were aimed right at Hilda, hitting her directly in her soul. Cute mouth slightly ajar and wanting. 

Pale thin neck fully exposed. 

Hilda threw one leg over Marianne and straddled her midsection, her girlfriend expelling a small surprised puff of air. Hilda’s grin turned practically sinful looking down at the oh so precious, oh so delicate woman beneath her. She carefully wrapped her hands around Marianne’s neck, fingers falling into place one at a time.

“Ready?” she asked, impishly devious. 

“I-I suppose,” Marianne said. 

And Hilda squeezed. 

It was just for a moment, just for a second. Marianne’s breath caught. Her eyes went wide. Her hands clamped down on Hilda’s wrists in pure reflex. Her body tensed as taut as a pulled bow and the sensation of it between Hilda’s legs drew something primal out of her. 

She let up on her grip. 

“Goddess,” Marianne gasped. 

“You see?” Hilda sang. “Just like that.” 

Marianne stared up at her, her breath quickened, her chest lightly heaving with each short gasp. Like a rabbit that had been caught. She rested a delicate hand to the center of her throat. 

“Do you need me to show you again?” Hilda asked. 

Marianne breathed in deep, catching her breath. Her hands slid back down once again, resting at her sides. 

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly. 

Hilda’s hands clamped back down around Marianne’s throat. This time, Marianne was more prepared for it. Her hands came up in surprised claws, but she did not grab onto Hilda. She stared up at her girlfriend with wide smudged eyes. Hilda pressed her thumbs into the center of Marianne’s throat, closing off her airway. Marianne made a small choking noise and that was enough to tell Hilda to pull away. 

Marianne breathed in a quiet gasp of air. 

“Easy peasy,” Hilda said with a little smile. “Nothing to it.” 

“Ah,” Marianne said, unable to get a thought in her head. “I see.” 

“Wanna try again?” 

Marianne fretted and bit her lip. Her eyes flitted away before looking back up at the girl straddled over her hips. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said quietly. 

Hilda huffed. 

“Did I hurt you just now?” she asked. 

“Well. . . not exactly,” Marianne said. 

“Then you know you’re not going to hurt me!” 

Marianne’s teeth dug into her lip. She pulled her hands up to her chest and folded fingers over one another. 

“Its different,” she said. 

Hilda rolled her eyes and huffed. Her weight settled back against Marianne, pushing the air out of her in a different way. She looked sidelong down at her wilting girlfriend with as much pity as she could muster. She was weak for big sad eyes and the meek little position. There was no fighting it. 

She smiled softly. 

“You liked it though didn’t you?” she asked. 

“Yes but. . .” 

Hilda leaned in again and rested her hands around Marianne’s throat. No pressure, no squeeze, only a light touch. Marianne breathed in deep. Her hands slipped to her sides. Her body went relaxed and pliant. 

With tender loving care, Hilda pushed. 

Instantly, Marianne’s air was cut off. The pressure on her neck wasn’t quite as precise as two thumbs on her throat. Strong hands covered a wider, more evenly spread area. Marianne managed a deep gasping breath in, slipping slowly into pure ecstasy. The grip on Hilda’s hands was gentle. More something to hold onto than resistance. 

Hilda watched carefully, timed herself, listened for telltale signs of struggle. At the sign of Marianne trying to gasp for air, her throat jumping in the attempt, Hilda let go. 

Marianne’s body deflated into the pillows in an angelic exhalation of peace. 

Hilda smiled and brushed her hair out of her eyes. 

“More?” she asked quietly, as if afraid she might break the moment. 

“More,” Marianne said, equally as quiet. 

Hands coiled around Marianne’s throat. Pressure closed off the air. Hilda leaned in again. 

This time, she went a little longer. At Marianne’s first small choke, Hilda rode through it. Another little gasp, her delicate voice singing just beneath it. Her tongue danced just past her lips, pink and wet. It was when Marianne’s eyes widened that Hilda let go. 

Marianne’s chest rose and fell in shaking gasps of air. She closed her eyes and the corners of her lips curled in a pleased smile. 

“Did I hurt you?” Hilda asked, genuinely concerned. 

“No,” Marianne said, as if floating in a dream. “That was lovely.” 

Hilda leaned in again, her hands stroked alongside Marianne’s neck. 

“Again?” she asked, one more time. 

Marianne’s eyes opened and that rare determination pierced Hilda. 

“Harder.” 

Hilda wasted no time. 

Viper fast, she whipped her hands around Marianne’s throat. The instant song of choke rang out in their little room. Marianne jolted beneath Hilda, bucking her like a scared mare, but Hilda could see the trust in her eyes. Marianne held tight to her wrists, holding on for the ride, not to pull off. 

Hilda put the same kind of pressure on that delicate pale throat that she would an axe. Her fingers tightened as she wrung them across muscle and skin. 

At the thought of bruising, she pulled off. 

“More,” Marianne whined between gasps. 

Hilda could only oblige. 

She moved with a silky grace on the next pass. Weight going down on Marianne’s throat as slow as molasses, until she was fully under a choke. Hilda hummed and leaned in, close enough to feel how Marianne wasn’t breathing. She brushed her lips against Marianne’s opened ones, revelling in the little squeaks and convulsions. Hilda let up, just short enough for Marianne to catch her breath, and she clamped back down. 

Marianne swallowed for air. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, her open mouth smiled. All of it silent encouragements for Hilda to carry on. 

Hilda’s hand pulsated, letting up just long enough for Marianne to breathe, before once again going back down. She moved to one hand and let her free one wander. It trailed down Marianne’s dress, tracing lace and seams. Down her shape, the soft dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. When she could go no further, she began pulling on skirts, bunching them up in her fist, until pale thin legs were revealed. Hilda let Marianne have another breath, just enough to hear her lose it again when Hilda slid her hand between those pale legs. 

Hilda worked her throat and her clit, rubbing and pressing in succession. She grinned, happy and content, at Marianne’s choking gasps, at her grasping hands, at her kicking legs. Marianne threw her head back, pleading Hilda’s name, asking for more. 

Choking had done more for Marianne than Hilda had realized. 

Her legs spasmed and her body jumped. Hilda circled her clit harder, pressing down on her throat, really throwing her weight into it. She would definitely bruise her little neck. 

Hilda did not let up until Marianne’s orgasm was finished. 

Marianne settled down into the sheets, gasping for air. Her chest pumped and heaved, thirsty for every last breath. Her eyes were hazed over and looking at nothing. Wet had formed at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Hilda gently kissed a tear away.

Marianne closed her eyes and smiled languidly. 

“Ah,” she rasped. 

“Good?” Hilda whispered against her cheek. 

Marianne smiled, two seconds from sleep. 

“Good!” Hilda slapped at her shoulders and sat up straight. “Me next!” 

Marianne groaned and hid her face under a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I love Marianne now. :D
> 
> (I'm real real excited for when she comes back this month >:3 ) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	8. Sylvain/Bernadetta - praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What!” Bernie squeaked and turned around. “What? What!?” 
> 
> Sylvain sighed in satisfaction and closed his eyes. He rustled the papers in the air. 
> 
> “I’m just enjoying the excellent feast I was fed,” he said. “Gorgeous as usual Bernie.” 
> 
> “You’re just saying that!” She clutched the back of the chair, both hands clawed around the wood, eyes wide in angry accusation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **KINKS:  
> **  
>  PRAISE
> 
> Okay. Honestly you're not technically _supposed_ to have favorite children but uh. . . this one is up there. I like this ship so much its so cute and they deserved an A support dang it. Sylvain and Bernie both deserve someone to be genuinely kind to them and ugh I could go off. But here have something light and fluffy and a little less filthy.

Sylvain was splayed out on Bernie’s bed, lounging against her pillows. In his hands was a sheath of papers, hand written in smudged shaking ink. He was plowing through the latest installment of her story, completely engrossed with the characters. The heroine galloped through a rain slicked forest, running away from her arranged betrothal, only to become lost. She had encountered a hermit that lived in the forest, a woman, and from the language, Sylvain could see where this was going. The two women were huddled in front of the fireplace, the hermit nursing the heroine back to health, and Sylvain’s eyes slid to Bernie. 

She was seated in the corner of her room, facing the wall. She had said it was to read a book of her own, but she hadn’t turned a page. 

She was hiding. 

A smile curled at the corners of Sylvain’s lips. He went back to the story, flicking the next page over with a flourish. Bernie flinched. 

The heroine was huddled under a blanket, her clothes hung out on a line above the fire. The hermit brought over something warm to drink and the description of how it warmed the heroine was downright poetic. The descriptions of color and smell filled Sylvain until they were real, heating him right along with Bernie’s heroine. 

He glanced to the author again. 

“Hmm,” Sylvain hummed. 

Bernie squeaked and jumped. Finally she turned a page. 

Sylvain grinned. 

The hermit moved in closer. Bernie’s heroine compared this woman to the world she knew and Sylvain could see her resolve slipping. From her duty, from her country. It was an interesting take coming from Bernie. 

And it was only chapter 2. 

Sylvain was downright giddy. He trusted Bernie to take her reader on a sprawling adventure. But starting off with such a _bang_ was not in her usual wheelhouse. 

“Oh ho,” Sylvain said as the heroine slipped into unconsciousness and the chapter came to an end. 

“What!” Bernie squeaked and turned around. “What? What!?” 

Sylvain sighed in satisfaction and closed his eyes. He rustled the papers in the air. 

“I’m just enjoying the excellent feast I was fed,” he said. “Gorgeous as usual Bernie.” 

“You’re just saying that!” She clutched the back of the chair, both hands clawed around the wood, eyes wide in angry accusation. 

“Of course I’m saying it, because its true.” Sylvain sat up, putting the start to her latest manuscript on the bed. He leaned his elbows against his knees and rested his chin in his hands. “I can’t wait to see what happens next. Your imagination is breathtaking.” 

Bernie practically vibrated with restraint, her mouth puckered into a fine point and face turning red. She whined under her breath and her hair flew as she whipped her head away. 

“I’m serious Bern.” Sylvain rose to his feet and crossed the room. “I love everything about your writing.” 

Bernie tucked her chin, her shoulders hiked to her ears, her face turned a fetching shade of neon red. Sylvain slid his hand over the back of her chair and she cowered into its corner as much as she could. Sylvain cupped her chin and turned her face to look at him, but still her eyes glanced away. 

“Your word choice is exquisite,” he whispered. “Your paragraph composition is inspired.” 

“No it isn’t,” Bernie whined. 

“The way you write characters is so realistic.” Sylvain edged a little closer. “I could feel the heroine’s plight, how scared she was, but how brave it made her.” 

Bernie fretted and bit her lip, unable to quell its quiver. 

“I could feel the heat from the fire. The heat in her heart. You’re such a vivid writer, Bernadetta, you make the words just leap off the page.” 

His whisper ghosted across her cheek until he finally leaned in and pressed a soft chaste kiss to her skin. The whine under her shaking breath made him smile. The way she shut her eyes. The fists in her lap. All of it fighting against his words. 

“I could read it out loud,” he said. “Prove it to you.” 

“Don’t!” Bernie snapped. “I couldn’t bear it!” 

She managed to pull free of Sylvain’s gentle touch and hid her face in her hands. Sylvain stood upright and laughed. He propped his fists on his hips and watched her squirm and fret. Her legs rubbed together and he could see the tell tale shiver rake over her body. 

Sylvain knew exactly what effect he had on the little author. 

“I honestly have never read anything more engaging than your work,” he said, rounding her chair. 

Bernie whined. After attempting to hold it in, she kicked her legs petulantly. Sylvain laughed, standing in front of her. He moved in slowly, a leg on either side of her own until he was straddled over her lap. He ran a hand through her hair, mussing up the locks, and she slapped a hand on her head to push them back down. 

“You’re such a good writer, Bernie,” he said. “You have a talent beyond compare.” 

“Don’t use hyperbole!” she shouted from behind her hands. 

Sylvain slowly lowered himself. He grabbed the chair, reaching around Bernie’s head, and gently rested his ass against her knees. He kept his weight mostly off the waif, knowing he’d break her, and used his own strength to keep himself up. 

“Not only that,” he said, leaning in. “You’re a stunning beauty as well.” 

“Aaaah,” Bernie wailed, the cry muffled behind clawed fingers. 

Sylvain brushed his lips across her hands, ghosting gentle kisses on her knuckles. He smiled at every whimper and every little moan, and scooted forward, close enough to press his body against hers. 

“You’re so sweet,” Sylvain said, kissing a hand. “And beautiful.” Another kiss. 

Bernadetta peaked out from between her fingers, her eyes big and near tears. Sylvain reached between her hands to softly usher them aside, brushing his fingers across her face. He rested his hand against her cheek, big enough for her to fall asleep in his palm. 

“What me to stop?” he asked quietly. 

Bernie’s lip quivered. She hummed in pain, whined in pleasure. Her chin tilted low, her head rested in his palm. She didn’t break eye contact. 

“No,” she said. 

Sylvain grinned. He climbed off her, reached under her legs, and scooped her off the chair. Bernie squeaked as she was hefted into the air, her legs pulling up to her chest and once again hiding behind her hands. 

“Ah how could you!?” she shouted. 

“My sweet Bernadetta,” he practically sang. “So cute and wonderful.” 

“No!” Bernie kicked her feet. Sylvain twirled in place. 

“With the most wonderful soft hair and a voice birds are envious of,” he continued. 

“No no,” Bernie wailed. 

Sylvain carefully deposited her on the bed, hitting the stack of papers on the way. They splayed out under her head, giving her a halo of prose.

“Ah oh no!” she said going for them. “Oh Bernie, you made a mess.” 

“You did no such thing.” Sylvain took her by the wrist and placed a gentle kiss to it. His lips were soft against her skin, up into the base of her palm, then another yet higher still. “You’ve only made beauty.” 

Bernie stiffened, her legs shaking, but she could only keep her eyes on Sylvain as he gently worshiped the hand that crafted such beautiful stories. Below him, Bernie had settled down, watched him through her fingers, breathing heavy, but she was no longer whimpering. Only enthralled. Sylvain smiled through the kiss. 

Sylvain relinquished her hand and crawled up on the bed, once again straddling her hips. He leaned in close, gently coaxing her hand away from her face, as if to kiss her, but stalled. Bernie’s breath hitched, her chin tilting to accept the kiss, but Sylvain zigged and continued those gentle, praising kisses down her face. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered against her skin. “Wonderful woman.” 

“Ah.” Bernie’s tiny voice shook. 

“The things you do to me,” he continued, going down her neck. “The way your writing affects me so.” 

“Sylvain,” Bernie whined. 

“Everything about you is so perfect.” 

Sylvain placed her arms on the bed, among her pages, as careful as handling a delicate glass sculpture. His hands slid down her arms, down her sides, until he could reach under her, holding her in a soft hug. Large fingers traced over the curve of a delicate hip.

“I’m amazed by you,” Sylvain said after another soft kiss. “Awed by you.” 

Bernie’s breath heaved, her chest pumping. She closed her eyes, bathed in the kind words. Her legs tensed, the build coming up to the edge. 

“The absolute,” he said, dragging his lips down her throat. “Best. Writer.” 

“Ah!” 

Bernie shouted and convulsed under Sylvain. Her legs kicked out across the bed and her hips left it, bucking against Sylvain’s own. Her hands covered her face again, less to hide and more just to have something to hold. She squeezed in on herself, splayed open, gasping for breath. 

Sylvain sat up in surprise, his eyes wide as he watched the little woman beneath him. His hands hovered in the air, unsure of where to touch, and just watched Bernie ride it out. 

She finally settled down against the sheets, chest still heaving as she gasped for air. Her hands were curled into loose fists, crinkling her work. Slowly, her eyes cracked open, hazy and pleased. 

“Bern,” Sylvain said quietly. A shaky smile quirked at the corner of his lips. “Did you just. . .” 

Bernie’s eyes snapped open wide. Her mouth snapped shut and she looked as if she swallowed her tongue. Without moving her head, her eyes slid over to look up at the big man still straddled over her. 

He grinned. 

“Did you just . . . come?” 

Bernie slapped her hands over her face. 

“Shut up!” she wailed. 

“Oh goddess Bernie,” he laughed. “Oh wow you just came from me saying–”

“Stop it!” Bernie kicked her legs against the bed, bouncing Sylvain with them. 

Sylvain just laughed, once again amazed by her. He would never stop being amazed by her. She looked up at him, once again peeking through her fingers. The telltale pout already visible behind her hands. 

“Its only because you’re so good,” she said. 

“Yeah I know,” Sylvain said. 

Bernie slid her hands down her face and turned to fully look up at him. 

“And kind,” she said. “And sweet.” 

“Alright alright,” Sylvain said. He smiled and lowered his face to hide a blush one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Bernie quirked a smile. 

“You say the nicest things,” she said. “You’re the nicest person.” 

“I get it,” he said, almost sounding like her. 

Her smile was so sickeningly sweet, it positively sinister. 

“Your attention and feedback means the world to me,” she said, gently cupping his face. “I would have no one else but you read my work.” 

Sylvain leaned forward, hiding in the crook of her neck. 

“Bernie,” he laughed. 

She hugged him tight and felt his arms wrap underneath her. Comfortable in their own embrace. 

“You’re my favorite reader,” she whispered in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah sorry light on the filth on this one, but I think thats why I like it so much :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	9. Felix/Ashe - somnophila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moan Ashe made from deep in his dreams only spurred him on. His hand lifted, trying to pull at Felix’s clothes, but the grip was kitten weak and wouldn’t open anything. 
> 
> “Want you,” he murmured against Felix’s skin. 
> 
> _That_ brought Felix to full attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  SOMNOPHILA**
> 
> Another one I feel like I didn't capture right. 
> 
> Ashelix was my very first ship. Like. . . theres no way they're not in love. Ashe loves his tsundere knight and melts his icy heart and I AM HERE FOR IT 
> 
> Anyways. Felix fucks a sleepy boy in the library.

Felix found Ashe where he typically did: the library. 

With everything going on in their lives, there was little time for themselves. Between Felix’s upkeep and training and Ashe’s own training and all the aid he gave the monastery and the council and prayer and meetings, not to mention the war itself. . . 

Time that was solely theirs had to be scheduled. 

Felix stomped around the darkened hallways, grumbling as he went. He had waited for Ashe in their shared room for hours and his lover hadn’t shown. He at least wanted intimacy, quiet conversation. It didn’t necessarily have to be sex. . . although sex wouldn’t have been turned down. 

Felix gripped the candle holder a little tighter and tried to ignore the press of his pants. 

It had been sometime since they had last been alone in a room, naked and breathing each other’s names. For years he had held back and Felix was done. But with the state of affairs as they were, they both had their priorities. 

Felix’s cock was swiftly making its own priorities. 

Anger was quick to come when he found Ashe alone in a darkened library, fast asleep. His head was nestled between his arms, resting on a large open tome. A soft snore was on every quiet breath. His mouth was open and a small trail of drool made its way down to the pages. He was surrounded by books about strategy and warfare, but the book he rested on was far different. 

It was oversized with gorgeous illuminations. A knight fighting a dragon. The calligraphy was ornate, weaving fairy tales of noble knights and their steadfast squires. 

Felix tried to keep up the ire, tried to hold on to the anger, but he simply couldn’t. Ashe was defenseless, helpless, and just as exhausted as he was. Who was he to blame Ashe getting lost in one of his comforts. 

Felix sighed. He placed the candle down on the table and blew it out. He wouldn’t need it to navigate the halls, but he did need both hands to carry his lover. He hefted Ashe off the table, his dead weight fighting against Felix. Felix pushed out a strained huff of air, his bangs flopping against his forehead, and tried again. If this had been Ashe of 5 years ago, when he was tiny and small, Felix would have had no problem, but no, Ashe had to go and grow up on him. 

Fully grown and filled out with long legs that could wrap around. . . 

Felix banished such thoughts and managed to heave Ashe off the table. He’d been playing out his expectations all day to the point that he was hard when he reentered their room. And when Ashe hadn’t shown, he was left wanting. But his poor defenseless lover needed to be dragged back to bed, not assaulted. 

“Felix?” Ashe slurred from sleep. Bleary eyes blinked open, crystal clear even in the dark. A slow smile quirked at his lips. “That you?” 

Felix bristled. He felt his face heat. How dare Ashe be so insufferably adorable? 

“Who else would it be?” Felix grumbled. 

Ashe smiled sleepily, his eyes still closed, and slumped against Felix’s chest. Felix stumbled under the weight and almost fell over. He frowned wide eyed into the dark at the incredulity of it all. He huffed, his body sagging with Ashe’s. 

“Alright,” he grumbled. “Fine. I guess _this_ is what we’re doing now.” 

Throwing his whole body into it, he managed to heave Ashe up and off the chair. Ashe did _not_ help. In his deep sleep, he was nothing but dead weight. He didn’t support any of it under his own power and his legs trailed behind on the floor. His arms flopped heavily on either side and his face was pressed hard into Felix’s chest. 

Felix took a step backwards, dragging his lover along with him and already knew he wouldn’t be able to keep that up. He’d have to lift Ashe off the ground. Carrying him bridal style would be simple enough, but Felix wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it all the way down the stairs to the dorms. 

He was in the middle of doing the mental math to get Ashe on his back, when the sleep addled man roused again. He head lifted and a clumsy wet kiss was placed on Felix’s neck.

Felix stiffened. The feel of tongue against his skin went straight to his cock. Hours left with only his thoughts and anticipations had left him vulnerable to such an attack. The moan Ashe made from deep in his dreams only spurred him on. His hand lifted, trying to pull at Felix’s clothes, but the grip was kitten weak and wouldn’t open anything. 

“Want you,” he murmured against Felix’s skin. 

_That_ brought Felix to full attention. 

It was so clear to hear those words in a different scenario, the one he had been imagining all night. Ashe curling up to him, his clever fingers touching Felix in places he didn’t know he had. His mouth exploring and curious. How he would say it when bent so lovely, taut like a bow or maybe hovered over Felix, blocking out the light or even in the quiet moments where they settled down. 

Felix’s pants _hurt_.

He glared at the darkness and screamed in his mind. Ashe once again descended into deep sleep, his lip pulling against Felix’s skin, and almost falling out of Felix’s arms. Felix almost let him. 

He huffed again and began dragging Ashe to the door. Damn man deserved to be dragged. 

“Felix,” Ashe moaned. 

He was dreaming. He was dreaming of Felix. And If that tone of voice was anything to go by, it was a _very good_ dream. 

“Felix, please.” Ashe reached up to grab a weak fistful of Felix’s shirt. “Want you.” 

Felix snarled and let Ashe fall to the ground in a heap. He thudded against the book shelf, shaking it slightly. His eyes fluttered and opened, looking up into the dark and the looming shadow of a man that stood before him. His mouth hung open, his legs splayed, eyes heavy lidded. Just how Felix wanted him. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered before his head lolled and he once again dropped to sleep. He breathed in heavy and snored softly. 

Felix glared. His hands coiled into fists. He couldn’t be blamed. 

Felix dropped down to his knees between Ashe’s legs, his hands hovering, wondering what he could touch. He started with the legs. Legs that had grown so long and that he loved. He knew every freckle on them, every little mark on the inner thigh. The larger birthmark behind the knee. Felix wanted to see them, but it would be impossible in the dark. 

His hands traced up Ashe’s slim body, up his chest. He’d gotten stronger, his arms more defined, his chest just a little larger. Enough that Felix could take handfuls of it. 

He squeezed. 

Ashe moaned in his sleep, his head rocking back. 

Felix continued to trace Ashe’s body, feeling him up over his clothes. Testing the waters, he popped a button on his shirt. A flash of pale freckled skin was revealed. Ashe only breathed slow and heavy. So Felix popped another button. And another. Until Ashe’s shirt was opened, his chest revealed to the darkened library. He watched Ashe’s chest rise and fall with the steady stream of sleep. So defenseless and hopeless, adorable in dreamland. 

Felix pushed aside the shirt to reveal the toned form of his chest. He slid his fingers over pert nipples, erect in the chill of the library. No reaction from his slumbering boyfriend. Felix pinched them, rolled them between his fingers. That earned him a soft moan, too small to be truly perceptible. 

Felix wondered what he dreamed of. He was pretty sure he was in Ashe’s dream, doing unspeakable things to him. Was he playing with Ashe’s nipples in the dream? Was he mid fuck? Were they flying? 

Felix would make Ashe fly. 

Still keeping one nipple between his fingernails, pinching down hard, he traced down Ashe’s stomach. Down lower and lower until he could slip his hand into the band of Ashe’s pants. 

He was hard. His cock was heavy and weeping and hard. His precum had already stained the fabric of his britches. How long had he been like this? It could have been since Felix started playing with his nipples or when he sleepily had been coming on to Felix. 

Or was it long before Felix had arrived, sleeping in the book about knights, dreaming of a dashing sword wielding knight to sweep him off his feet and fuck him into the earth. 

Felix could simply play with Ashe, toy with his body, let him ride out his dreams. He would cum, that much was sure. He would play out his wet dream and fuck into nothing and cum in his pants, waking up wet and embarrassed on the library floor. And wouldn’t that be a sight. 

But he’d also left Felix waiting for so long. 

Felix leaned in close, pressing his body against Ashe’s. He dug his nails into that nipple, tightened his grip around that cock, and whispered in Ashe’s ear. 

“I’m going to fuck you Ashe,” he said. 

Ashe groaned, his head rattling books. Felix could see the whites of his eyes as his lashes fluttered. 

More than a little joyful and filled with heat, Felix bit Ashe’s ear, just as punctuation. 

Listening to Ashe’s sleep addled moans, he traced his body. His fingers hooked into the hem of Ashe’s pants and slowly, careful as to not fully wake the sleeping man, pulled them down over his legs. Even though he couldn’t see them in the dark, Felix had memorized every freckle. He had traced them out with his tongue, made constellations with his spit. 

He would do much the same that night. 

Leg by long leg, Felix rolled Ashe’s pants down carefully. Once removed, he threw them to the side, already forgotten. He slithered down low, almost laying on his stomach, and placed his head between Ashe’s legs. 

He started with the right. Still moving slow enough so as to not wake Ashe, he trailed his tongue over a pale, milky thigh, standing out in the dark of the library. He tasted of the floral soap he used, like strawberries, and the sweat of day. Felix lay his tongue fat and flat against that smooth pale skin and dragged it up his thigh, stopping short of a hard cock. He did it again and again, stroking and petting Ashe’s thigh with his tongue. He sucked on the skin, leaving another wholly different mark. Ashe’s breathing picked up. His cock twitched. His dreams tormented him. Once fully slobbered up, Felix moved on to the next thigh. 

Ashe began to moan. His hips began to move. Another spit of precum danced from his slit. He was growing frustrated and Felix couldn’t help but wonder if it was from the lack of attention to his dick. 

Ashe moaned something that sounded like words. It was unintelligible, a child’s poem of babbling nonsense. Felix bit down on inner thigh flesh, just a shade too hard, and Ashe squeaked like he was drunk. 

Once satisfied, Felix sat up. 

“Ashe,” he hissed. 

Another burbling spout of nonsense. 

“Ashe,” Felix said again, more insistent this time. 

“Uuuunh,” Ashe said from his dreamscape. 

“Ashe.” Felix tapped on his cheek with three short pats. 

Ashe’s eyes blinked open, heavy and bleary, still not fully awake. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked. 

Ashe whimpered, his eyes rolling back and his head lolling heavy again. 

“Ashe!” Felix smacked his cheek again, harder this time. 

“Wha. . .” Ashe gasped. 

Felix took a nipple between his fingernails again.

“Do you,” he said on the pinch. “Want me.” A little tighter. A little twist. “To fuck you?” 

“Yes!” Ashe said in a wail only the half awake can manage. 

More than enough. Felix smirked, sat up on his knees, and shoved his pants down his hips. He lifted Ashe’s legs one by one, shoving the wettened thighs together. He held Ashe by the thighs, pushing them up and pressing them close, keeping them tight and closed. And like that, he pushed his cock between them. 

It was a tight squeeze. Warm and wet and smooth. He groaned as he pushed against the soft flesh, his foreskin rolling as he wriggled to the otherside. Until he could feel the cool night air on his cock head. Felix situated himself, lowered his hips, pressed them tighter, spread his legs wide. He pumped his hips again, this time rubbing his dick against Ashe’s own unattended one. That was it, that was the angle he needed. He pushed Ashe’s legs tighter, pushed them closer to his chest, and began fucking the sleeping man. 

With every thrust, Ashe’s limp body danced against the bookshelf. Small involuntary grunts were pushed free from him every time Felix rut into his thighs. His head knocked against the shelf, a small beat played as the books rocked back and forth. 

Slowly, his eyes began to open. 

“Felix?” he slurred. 

Felix grinned. His fingers dug in tight and he thrust hard enough for his hips to slap audible against Ashe’s thighs. 

That, _finally_ , woke him up. 

Ashe inhaled deep through his nose and propped up on his elbows, eyes still not fully opened. Another strong thrust and he was knocked back again. 

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Felix said. “Did you have a nice nap?” 

Ashe threw his head back and groaned. 

“What are you. . . oh goddess Felix,” Ashe gasped, grabbing at the bookshelf.

“Were you dreaming of me?” Felix asked, out of breath. 

“Y-yes,” Ashe gasped. 

His back arched, his hips looking for that delicious friction. Felix gave it to him, pushing his legs flush against his chest. Felix extended his legs, going up on his toes, and fucked down into that tight space. 

“Was I doing this to you?” he asked hungrily. 

“Yes! Yes you were!” Ashe cried. 

Felix dug his nails into soft skin. 

“What else was I doing?” he asked. 

Ashe’s hazy sleep addled eyes blinked up at Felix, big and wide in the dark, an open owlish gaze that would’ve been intimidation if Felix didn’t know the sweet man better. 

“You were kissing me,” Ashe whispered. 

Felix opened Ashe's thighs and leaned in hard. He pressed his body tight against Ashe’s, grinding their cocks together. Coming out of his wet dream, Ashe cried out into Felix’s mouth before it was once again silenced. He came between their bodies, cum staining his bare chest and Felix’s clothed one. Too pleasure drugged and groggy to control himself, his legs twitched and his arms spasmed at his sides. When it seemed he was done, Felix pulled away. A trail of spit connected his tongue to Ashe’s, catching what little light the library had to offer. 

Ashe had no focus. His head hung heavy and he looked out over nothing. His lids were low and wet with sleep, his mouth open and bruised from the onslaught. 

Perfect for the taking. 

Felix rose to his feet and straddled over Ashe’s prone body. He quickly jerked himself, working with efficiency to solely get off. He ran his hand over Ashe’s head, soft hair sifting through his fingers. 

Ashe looked up, those wonderful big eyes aimed right at Felix and seeing only Felix. Slowly, tantalizingly slow, his mouth opened and his tongue lolled out. 

Felix had no defenses. 

He came hard, cum leaping out to stain Ashe’s face. Ashe flinched and his eyes closed as he was decorated with Felix’s spunk. His orgasm didn’t last long, but he stared at every second of it. Every freckle covered up with his seed. 

Felix didn’t realize when his gentle pat had turned into him gripping Ashe by the hair, but when he did he let Ashe go. Ashe licked his lip, more smacking his mouth as he woke up than to clear himself of the cum stains on his face. His eyes blinked open and he rubbed at one. 

“What time is it?” Ashe asked. 

Felix sighed and crouched down in front of his lover. He took Ashe by the chin and began cleaning his face with his sleeve. 

“Well past midnight,” Felix said. “Its tomorrow.” 

“Did I fall asleep in the library again?” Ashe slurred. It was too adorable. 

Felix only grunted. 

“. . . I missed our date,” Ashe said. Blame the still waking up, but he almost sounded close to tears. 

Felix sighed and gave Ashe a bland look, still holding him by the chin. 

“Why do you think. . .” He motioned around him, to indicate all of what had transpired. 

Ashe looked around. He caught sight of his discarded pants, the wet between his thighs. He licked his lips and picked up a bit of cum at the corner. 

“Oh,” he said. He smiled and it was brilliant in the dark. “Well I must say, that makes for a very effective alarm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to write them adopting a child together. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	10. Dorothea/Ingrid - distension/piss play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid sat side saddle on the floor, her legs splayed out under her, her arms just barely keeping herself up. She shivered, sweating, dressed in only her under garments. Her eyes wet with hot tears. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 
> 
> “Have another, darling?” Dorothea asked, holding out a cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  DISTENSION  
> WATER SPORTS/PISS PLAY**
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:  
> **  
>  ALCOHOL ABUSE
> 
> This is one that is NOT FOR EVERYONE. Like. . . I understand that this kink is not the sexiest thing in the world and Dorothea force feeds Ingrid alcohol so please take care of yourself and skip it if this is NOT YOUR THING. 
> 
> To anyone where this is your thing: enjoy :)

Ingrid sat side saddle on the floor, her legs splayed out under her, her arms just barely keeping herself up. She shivered, sweating, dressed in only her under garments. Her eyes wet with hot tears. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 

“Have another, darling?” Dorothea asked, holding out a cup. 

Ingrid raised her head, her brows pushed together in pain. She reached out with a shaking hand but it was too heavy. Her hand thunked down at her side. 

“Oh poor baby, let me help you.” Dorothea leaned down and gently cupped Ingrid’s chin. The lip of the metal cup kissed Ingrid and rich wine spilled into her mouth. She swallowed it greedily, despite how difficult it was to get down. 

She was full all the way up to the base of her throat. A pressure pushed painfully against her lower stomach. Her head swam from the alcohol. Her vision blurred from the tears. 

Ingrid gasped for air when Dorothea pulled the cup away. Unable to keep her heavy head up, it fell between her shoulders. Her whole body shuddered with each labored breath.

“Atta girl,” Dorothea said. 

Ingrid choked back a sob. 

Gentle hands cupped her face and forced her to look up at the woman before her. Dorothea sat high above Ingrid, perched in a chair like a goddess. She smiled sweetly, nothing but grace and beauty. 

"Are you quite alright, sweet thing?" she asked. 

Ingrid shivered. A cold sweat sheened over her body. Goose pimples ran up and down her back. The small hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood on end. The world tilted sideways even in Dorothea's hold. 

"F-fine," she said between clenched teeth. 

Dorothea's smile was sickeningly sweet. She ran her thumb over Ingrid's lower lip, purpled from the wine. 

"Good," she said, both of them knowing the lie. "Then how about another drink?" 

Ingrid's head dropped and she puffed out a strained breath of air. Dorothea's sweet touch slid out of sight and the sound of liquid sloshing in metal rang out in the room. Nausea burbled in the pit of Ingrid's over stuffed stomach. Pain swelled between her legs, a pressure of a near to bursting dam. 

Dorothea didn't offer this time. She grabbed Ingrid by her face, squishing her cheeks like a chipmunk, and yanked her face up. Dorothea poured the wine into Ingrid's mouth. Ruby red liquid dribbled out the corners of Ingrid’s lips. Ingrid coughed and it splattered on her face. At least that made Dorothea stop. 

"Had enough?" she asked. 

"Please," Ingrid said between coughs. "Please no more." 

"Oh?" Dorothea leaned against her fist. "Have we discovered the great Ingrid Brandl Galatea's limits?"

"I feel like I–" Ingrid heaved. She placed a delicate hand over her mouth. "I might. . ."

Dorothea tilted her head up again. This time, instead of a cup, full red lips drew near. 

"Let me help you keep that down," Dorothea said. 

The kiss was soft and sweet, but the press of lips against lips was too great for Ingrid. She whimpered, but Dorothea clamped her hand on the back of Ingrid's head, holding her in place. When Ingrid gasped, Dorothea took the opening and snaked her tongue into Ingrid's sticky mouth. Ingrid gagged on the invader, tensing immediately, hands coming up to claw at the air. 

Dorothea's free hand trailed down Ingrid's body. Over her shoulder, tracing her collar, dipping down her sternum and between her breasts. 

"Look at how pretty you are," she said, licking Ingrid's lips. "I'm so lucky to be privy to such a beauty." 

She found where hardened nipples were strained against smallclothes and Dorothea _pressed_. Ingrid cried out. Her whole body convulsed and flopped and she found herself leaning into Dorothea's arms. It gave Dorothea’s wandering hand more access. A light touch tickled down Ingrid’s sternum, eliciting shivers from the drunken knight. Down, down, still Dorothea went, until she found the sloshing distension just before the tie of her small clothes. 

And once again, she _pressed_.

Ingrid threw back her head and wailed. The pressure was intense, pushing up against her stomach, a tight urgent pain that demanded immediate attention. Ingrid squeezed her legs together, knees slamming as they met each other. She ground her thighs, tears welling up in her eyes. She held onto Dorothea for dear life. 

Dorothea just laughed, petting at her lower stomach. 

“Look at you,” she cooed. “So desperate for me.” 

She pushed in again, massaging the skin, and Ingrid’s too full bladder screamed. Ingrid had half a mind to let dignity fly out the window, as if it weren’t gone already. 

“I’m only glad to help,” Dorothea whispered in her ear. 

Her hand snaked into Ingrid’s small clothes, between her thighs, and found her damp, leaking cunt. Long talented fingers slipped between her folds, finding her budding clit, and ever so gently, traced her fingers lightly over it. 

A whole new pressure raked over Ingrid’s body. 

She sobbed, her legs pressing tighter, her hands digging into Dorothea’s arms. 

Dorothea’s tormenting fingers began rubbing in circles, pressing, stroking the hood. She flicked once and Ingrid yelped. 

Dorothea laughed quietly in her ear and gently bit down on the lobe. 

Fingers travelled lower still, between Ingrid’s pussy lips, and slipped two fingers inside Ingrid’s slick. 

It was slow going at first. Just a simple dance of fingers in and out of her cunt. Ingrid groaned, the sweet sensation of pleasure married along the pushing pain in her bladder. Stroking at the soft parts inside, gently building, coaxing, overwhelming sensations of desire. Ingrid’s swirling mind reeled, dizziness once again taking over, from a wholly different source. 

It did nothing to help with the mounting pressure. 

Dorothea stroked. Ingrid jolted. Wet leaked. 

“Oh no,” Dorothea said in her ear, feeling the wet warmth on her hand. “Hold that in, my love. You can’t go just yet.”

Ingrid shook and whined and tears began to leak from her eyes. She sobbed at the pain, pressing her head into Dorothea’s shoulder. 

Dorothea stroked back honey blonde strands, hair that clung to her sweat kissed brow. Dorothea pressed a kiss to her temple, a gentle contrast to the hand between Ingrid’s legs. She picked up in speed, moving her whole hand as she pumped fingers in and out. 

Ingrid whined. She held onto her tormenter like a buoy in a storm. Her insides sloshed, feeling like a too full sack of nothing but free floating liquid. It pooled at the base, eager to leave, and there was very little Ingrid could do. 

Dorothea’s ministrations picked up again. She bit her lip in effort, her hand moving in a blur, beating against the fabric of Ingrid’s smallclothes. 

Ingrid sobbed. Her whole body jumped and danced, her hips wriggled. Her thighs clamped together, trying to keep everything inside, but she couldn’t fight against Dorothea’s working hand.

“D-dorothea,” she whined. “Dorothea, please.”

Dorothea tilted her head, brushing her lips against Ingrid’s neck. 

“Are you close, my darling?” she asked. 

Ingrid had no words anymore. She threw back her head, a choked out wail her only answer.

“Hold it just a little bit longer for me,” Dorothea said. 

“I can’t! I can’t!” Ingrid hiccupped. 

“But you’re so strong.” Dorothea pet her hair. Dorothea finger fucked her to oblivion. “Be strong.” 

Ingrid bit her lip hard enough to bleed. Her eyes squeezed shut so tightly it hurt. She couldn’t fight against the thrusting fingers between her legs, the mounting build inside her bladder. She had to. Dorothea told her to. 

Dorothea kissed her neck. She tongued it, mouth open wide and lapping at beads of sweat. She clamped her lips down on Ingrid’s porcelain skin and marked it for everyone to see. She sank her teeth in. 

Ingrid screamed and it faded into bouncing sobs. She openly wept, tears flowing forth. The only liquid that could. 

Dorothea kissed the fresh wound and peppered a trail up Ingrid’s neck, along her jaw, all the while keeping up her violent pace. She nibbled at Ingrid’s ear and once again lined up her lips. In a voice deep and honey sweet, the perfect tone of a seasoned operatic singer, she commanded Ingrid. 

“Cum for me.” 

Ingrid’s whole body flailed. Her pussy twitched around Dorothea’s fingers. Hot piss gushed from her legs, staining her small clothes, drenching Dorothea’s hand. The rushing sound was unmistakable. It pooled on the floor and an unmistakable stink wafted into the room. Ingrid’s legs kicked out from under her, flailing. She nearly fell back, but Dorothea caught her. 

Ingrid twitched as the last of her piss and orgasm died. Dorothea once again kissed her cheek and withdrew her hand. She shook it once in the air, flecks of urine dancing into Ingrid’s room. 

Ingrid heaved in Dorothea’s arms, her body weak and pliant. She tried to catch her breath. More tears leaked from her eyes and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Not like she tried. 

She couldn’t feel her legs, she couldn’t feel her body. Her cunt twitched one more time and she squeaked at the sensation. The room still spun and her head felt full of cotton. It was too heavy and it lolled to the side. She stared blandly up at the ceiling and wished for it to stop moving.

She was so very tired. 

“Look at you,” Dorothea said. “So gorgeous, but such a mess.” 

Ingrid hiccupped. 

“Lets get you cleaned up,” Dorothea said, helping Ingrid to her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was possessed when I wrote this. I blacked out and suddenly a fic was on the page. I have no excuses for myself. I just wanted to make Ingrid cry :)))))))
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	11. Lorenz/Ignatz - frottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why?” Ignatz asked. 
> 
> “Hm?” Lorenz cocked his head. 
> 
> “Why share this with me?”
> 
> Lorenz’s perfect brows pinched in sympathy. He laughed, shaking his head and looked to his shoes. 
> 
> “How many signs must I throw at you before you start to read them?” he said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  FROTTAGE  
> ART APPRECIATION**
> 
> Some of these can just hop right into the fucking. . . some of them I feel compelled to explain WHY the fucking is happening. 
> 
> Those are longer. 
> 
> They torture me. 
> 
> Stupid me thought this would be the longest one I'd write but. . . well we'll get to that :')
> 
> For now, enjoy some fluff.

Ignatz was practically dragged through the courtyard. He stumbled to keep up, his feet tripping over cobblestones. 

“Where are we going?” he asked breathlessly. 

“You’ll see,” Lorenz called over his shoulder. 

Ignatz had been minding his own business when Lorenz had come in, buzzing with excitement. He had announced that there was something that Ignatz should see and _insisted_ that he come along with him right away. There was no room for argument, but still Lorenz waited for acknowledgement. With a quiet _’okay’_ and a small nod, Lorenz grabbed Ignatz by the hand they took off. 

He didn’t even give Ignatz a moment to put away his sketchbook, just leaving it open on the ground. 

They took a turn and scuttled down the stairs, almost taking them two at a time. Lorenz’s grip was tight on Ignatz’s hand and Ignatz worried he might fall. His arms windmilled as he tried to catch up. 

"S-slow down Lorenz," Ignatz called. 

"You have to see this!" Lorenz shouted back over his shoulder. 

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Ignatz almost did fall over. He tripped on a cobblestone, calling out at gravity's siren call. Lorenz caught him, two hands on his shoulders, and held Ignatz until he was sure he was upright. 

They were close. So close that Lorenz was all Ignatz could see. His smile, the joy and exhilaration, a brush of his blush across his cheeks. Ignatz felt as if he had swallowed his tongue. The burbling thoughts and feelings he had so carefully set aside were too much to handle.

He had no words. 

"Come on!" Lorenz said, once again taking Ignatz's hand. 

They took off down towards the water, past the docks. Sailors and dock workers turned and stared as they ran past. It must have been a sight, a noble dragging a commoner like they were two excited children chasing after sweets. A few of the lords over seeing their shipments looked and by their scoffing expressions, Ignatz was so sure they'd get reprimanded or worse. 

Ignatz watched carefully at the attention they were causing. 

He wished he didn't care, that he could simply enjoy the heat from Lorenz's hand. 

"Lorenz!" he said. "What's so important?"

Lorenz only glanced over his shoulder with a secret smile. 

They took a turn to a stairwell Ignatz had never seen before. They ducked down into darkness, a torch waited at the entrance, but Lorenz forwent the light, instead opting to navigate in bleak. He ran down the steps, knowing each one, and slowed towards the end, holding out both hands to help Ignatz this time. Ignatz used the opportunity to catch his breath, to finally enjoy Lorenz's touch. 

"Come," Lorenz said. He was hidden in shadow, but Ignatz could still hear the smile. 

At least he slowed down. The stairwell opened to a large open chamber. In the darkness Ignatz could see large looming figures and as his eyes adjusted he recognized them as shipping crates. Probably filled with supplies and food stuffs for the academy. Stacks upon stacks of wooden crates and barrels from the latest shipment. 

"Should we be down here?" Ignatz asked as Lorenz lead him on. 

"It's quite alright I assure you." 

The way he said it told Ignatz that no, they were _not_ supposed to be down there. 

The chamber lead into another, the tall ceiling that Ignatz _thought_ he couldn't see ascended higher into complete obscurity. The click of their heels echoed off far away walls. The room was dank and cold. They must have been deep underneath the monastery grounds. 

"Where are we?" Ignatz asked, mistified. 

"Now where is. . .?" 

Lorenz stopped. In the inky black, Ignatz couldn't make him out. He held tighter to Lorenz's hand in an effort not to lose him. 

"Two paces right and ah ha!" 

Lorenz turned suddenly and marched up to a large shadow that loomed over them in the dark. Lorenz let go of Ignatz's hand, abandoning him in the darkness. 

"Ah!" Ignatz yelped, groping at thin air for something to hold on to. 

The darkness was interrupted with a quick snap as Lorenz lit a match. His face was partially lit by the amber light, the shadows hitting in just a way to accent his beauty. A chiaroscuro beyond compare. 

The light moved to a glass orb at Lorenz’s feet. It filled the space, showing off the cold, surprisingly dry, stone flooring. The ornate boxes that surrounded them, all covered in locks. And the base of a large, gold filigree frame. Lorenz, fully in the light, pulled on a rope and raised the orb into the air. Slowly, the painting was revealed. 

A nondescript blanket laid over a grassy hill. A small grouping of people, most of them to be old crones, their bodies bare chested and exposed. One leaned on her side, another sat cross legged, another seemingly in the air. All of them enraptured by the lecture they were listening to, words Ignatz didn’t know but could almost hear. In the center of them was a goat, massive and sitting up as a human would. Its long curling horns wrapped around its head, one hooved arm stretched out, the other clutching its chest. Proportionally it was huge compared to its human flock. The light stopped somewhere in the center, to best illuminate the composition, but Ignatz’s eyes kept travelling. Into the sky that should have been day, daylight over the grassy hills and through the trees in the distance, but slowly shifted into darkness. No stars, no hint of life further than earth, and a crescent moon that hung delicately in the air. 

Ignatz stared up at the painting, slack jawed and in awe. 

“The Sabbath,” he whispered. 

Lorenz took his place at Ignatz’s side, arms folded behind his back. He wasn’t looking at the painting, his eyes fixed on Ignatz. 

“This is. . . How in the. . . How did you. . .?” Ignatz sputtered. 

“My father purchased it.” Lorenz rocked forward on his toes. 

Ignatz looked over to his friend, his fine features flickering in the candlelight. 

“Purchased?” Ignatz squeaked. “One does not just _purchase_ a painting like this.” 

Lorenz’s smile went soft and pitying. He cocked his head and looked sidelong at the manifestation of pure art. 

“Well he did,” he said. “Apparently they found it in the artist’s home and auctioned it off discreetly.” 

“ _Auctioned!?_ ” 

“Mmm.” 

They stared at it in an amicable silence. Ignatz took one shaking step forward, his hands raised in reverence. He took in the gradual fade of shadows to light, the story the painting told using only paint. The mastery of color, seemingly so dull in its beiges and browns and pale peaches, but they looked so vibrant on the canvas. The way the congregation was holy and yet the deep darkness at the edges betrayed something sinister. Not the goat in the center, but the paint. Ignatz scanned brushed strokes, imagining the artist’s hand as it moved, taking in the technique. 

“It is in transit between the artist’s home and our villa,” Lorenz said. “It seems a shame that father is going to lock it away for only his enjoyment. I wanted to share it with you.” 

Ignatz looked over his shoulder at Lorenz. He stood tall, his angular features focused on Ignatz like he was the most fascinating thing in the room. Patient, as if he would let Ignatz stare upon the holy painting for eternity and Lorenz would simply wait. 

He was beautiful in the dim lighting. He was beautiful in any lighting. Even in standing in the Sabbath’s shadow, he outshone it. 

“Why?” Ignatz asked. 

“Hm?” Lorenz cocked his head. 

“Why share this with me?”

Lorenz’s perfect brows pinched in sympathy. He laughed, shaking his head and looked to his shoes. 

“How many signs must I throw at you before you start to read them?” he said quietly. 

As Lorenz’s piercing eyes met Ignatz’s, Ignatz felt the ground drop out from underneath him. Every little look, every smile, all the times when they were just a little too close. Everything that Ignatz had tried to set aside had been exactly what Lorenz was looking for. That he had been feeling those things too. 

Ignatz’s repressed feelings broke like a dam and rushed through his veins. 

“For one so whip smart I’m surprised this alluded you, but I suppose I should have to spell it out,” Lorenz said, examining his nails. He was trying so hard to be nonchalant, but Ignatz could see the blush, even in the dark. He could hear the warble in his voice. 

“I have. . .” Lorenz cleared his throat. “Certain. Feelings for you. That I simply cannot hide anymore.” 

Ignatz took a shaking step closer. 

“And even if you do not reciprocate these feelings, I am still happy to share art such as this with you.” He waved his hand in the direction of the Sabbath, long forgotten by Ignatz. “And I can only hope that we can continue to be friends, with no expectations.” 

In that dark cavern, there were no sounds. Ignatz could hear his blood pumping in his ears. He could see Lorenz’s uncertainty and the deep breath he took in. How he steeled himself from an oncoming rejection. He tried to maintain eye contact with Ignatz, but something broke and he glanced away. 

“Well,” he said. “What do you have to say to that?” 

Ignatz had no words. 

He closed the gap between them, framed Lorenz’s face between his hands, and met him in a quick kiss. He could practically _taste_ Lorenz’s gasp. The offended huffy cry of indignance. Before Ignatz could second guess himself, it transformed into a soft moan and Lorenz melted against Ignatz. His hands came to rest on Ignatz’s shoulders, strong hands that were not the delicate softness of a lord but the calloused work of one who's seen battle. 

They slowly parted, the smile pulling at Lorenz’s lips more genuine. 

“Does that mean you return my feelings?” he rasped. 

Ignatz nodded fervently. 

“Of course,” he said breathlessly. “Of course I do.” 

Lorenz grinned and leaned in again. 

“Oh good,” he said before once again capturing Ignatz in a kiss. 

The way Lorenz’s arms wrapped around him was a comfort. His hands splayed wide on Ignatz’s back, holding him close. Ignatz still framed his face, his fingers sliding through fine strands of hair. He touched down Lorenz’s neck, wrapping around behind it. Lorenz breathed in deep and Ignatz tasted his lips, testing to see just how deep this kiss would go. Lorenz tasted like his favorite tea. 

They shifted in place, squirming to find just the right angle, just the right way to make up for their height difference. Ignatz pulled Lorenz closer and Lorenz did the same and their bodies pressed against each other. Lorenz groaned around Ignatz’s tongue. 

Ignatz traced the form of the man in front of him. Down his arms, over his waist, behind his back. He pressed on Lorenz’s lower back and their hips connected. 

Lorenz gasped and pulled away. 

Ignatz’s glasses had fogged up, but even behind that and in the low light he could still see the look of shock on Lorenz’s face. Ignatz blinked back the sudden haze in his mind. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I just. . . is this too fast?” 

Lorenz tilted his chin and smiled, teasing with just a hint of the manners he hadn’t forgotten. 

“Its been too slow for far too long,” he said.

Ignatz was quick to hungrily kiss Lorenz again. He grasped at Lorenz’s jacket, holding it in tight fists. Lorenz’s fingers dug into his own back, almost to the point of painful. He pressed his hips in tighter, moving against Ignatz, and it was all Ignatz had in him not to whimper. 

Ignatz’s hands moved down, feeling up the body that he had tried not to imagine for so long. His fingers found a form that he wanted, shapes he needed to see. He hit Lorenz’s lower back and paused. Lorenz hissed something akin to _’please’_ and Ignatz slid his hands down. 

His hands ran over the curve of Ignatz’s ass, more there than he would have thought. Lorenz moaned at the light touch, writhed his body against Ignatz’s and pushed a leg between his own. Just to show what that ass felt like when it moved. 

Ignatz squeezed. 

“Yes,” Lorenz sighed. “Oh yes Ignatz, yes.” 

They shifted against one another, Ignatz pulling Lorenz closer, grinding against the leg between his thighs. Lorenz’s hands were in his hair, skewing his glasses behind his ears, head tilting for just the right purchase. Ignatz whimpered, wanting more. 

He took a step forward. Lorenz stumbled. His back hit the large ornate frame and the canvas boomed as it shook. 

The two pulled apart with surprise and a wet smack. Once again, they found themselves staring at each other, locked in each other’s embrace. Ignatz’s eyes slowly travelled, from Lorenz’s heavy lidded open mouthed want, past where his hair was splayed out against the dried paint, up to the muted green of the grass and the gatherers in their bacchanalian revelry. Lorenz seemed to slip into the painting, to become one of them. A brilliant color among the worshippers, touched at the corners with sin. 

Ignatz smiled up at their goat lord and slowly looked back to the lord in front of him. Lorenz was serene and calm. The light flickered against his face and truly made him one with the painting. Ignatz leaned in for more. 

The interruption had allowed for their hearts to slow, for the initial rush of adrenaline to die down. Ignatz’s hands rounded Lorenz’s hips, dragging to touch and learn. What he found was just how sensitive Lorenz. That moan Ignatz would never get used to ran through him, fueled him. He gripped Lorenz’s hips and pushed forward, grinding him into the frame. 

“Ignatz,” he whined. 

His hips moved with Ignatz’s, meeting them, thrusting up against them. Ignatz was no longer kissing his lord, instead his forehead was pressed against Lorenz’s, looking down where their bodies met. Lorenz had slumped against the frame, hand clutched around the gold plated filigree, Ignatz practically between his legs. He looked up to meet Lorenz’s pleading eyes. He bit his lip in silent question. 

“Should we?” Ignatz asked. 

Lorenz nodded, already going for his belt. He whined as his fingers clumsily attempted to pull out the carefully constructed knots of his laced up pants. They fumbled with too much speed, too eager to get to where he wanted to me.

“Oh come on,” he said to his own laces. 

Ignatz gently placed his hands on top of Lorenz’s, stilling them. 

“Let me,” he said. 

Bit by bit, the artist managed to undo the ties of Lorenz’s pants. The lace slid out with the small song of braided fabric. Almost of its own accord, his hand slid over the front of Lorenz’s pants and rubbed delicately at the erection pressed against them. 

Lorenz groaned and his head rocked forward. His grip tightened on the frame behind him, wobbling it in his passion. 

“Ignatz,” he said heavily. “Do not be a tease.” 

“I don’t intend to be,” Ignatz said, and pulled the last bit of lace free. 

Lorenz’s pants slid low on his hips. Ignatz pulled them over his prize and Lorenz’s dick hit the cool air of the large room. He smiled down at it before taking its length into his hand. 

Lorenz practically melted in relief. 

“Ah, Ignatz,” he said. 

He reached out and stroked Ignatz’s face, just as Ignatz stroked him. He ran the back of his fingers delicately down Ignatz’s cheek. 

“Now you,” he said. 

Ignatz wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He meant to go for his own pants, but Lorenz’s smooth touch beat him to it. Dancing to a tune that wasn’t there, his hands glided down Ignatz’s body and slid over the front of his pants, just as Ignatz had done to him. Ignatz’s breath shook as Lorenz stroked him and he leaned in to rest his open mouth against Lorenz’s, breathing each other’s air. Lorenz groaned, with Ignatz still stroking him, and tried to open his pants. They were simpler and Lorenz’s thirst fueled him to make quick work of it. Lorenz pulled Ignatz’s cock free and quickly began pumping it. 

Ignatz moaned. He leaned in close and captured Lorenz’s lips between his own, lining up them perfectly. His hips bucked, wanting more of that delicate touch from rough hands. He fucked into the moving hand, moving in closer and closer. 

His own cock brushed up against Lorenz’s. 

At the mere contact, Lorenz gasped. His mouth pulled away from Ignatz’s, but that was quickly remedied, the gasp cut off with another kiss. 

Pressing their dicks together seemed to be the right move and Ignatz did it again, just to feel Lorenz whimper, shiver, grip his shoulder. He felt Lorenz’s hand tighten around his dick and he fucked into it with a violent thrust, his cock head tracing up the underside of Lorenz’s dick. 

“Ignatz,” Lorenz gasped, once again pulling away from his assaulting mouth. “That feels. . .” 

“I know,” Ignatz said desperately. 

He thought of how it might feel better. 

“H-hang on,” Ignatz said, slowing down. “Let me just. . .” 

He slid his hand under Lorenz’s, gently pushing it aside, and took both their dicks in his grasp. He spit, a slow long thing, that travelled down into his palm and smeared the wet over their dicks for a smoother ride. And once again, fucked up into them. 

Lorenz was free to simply take it. 

He rocked back against the frame, crouched low to meet Ignatz’s level, holding on for dear life. 

“Oh Goddess,” he moaned. 

Ignatz smiled, watching Lorenz’s descent into pleasure. Pretty as a painting. He moved his hand, picking up speed. Every so often he’d stop to swipe the head of Lorenz’s cock, to better angle his own to press up against the underside, all things that brought forth new noises from his new lover. 

Lorenz closed his eyes, mouth open in delicious agony, and his head cocked limply to the side. He looked a martyr in a holy painting. Under the light, his hair glowed like a halo. The goat in the Sabbath stared down at him, judging him and finding him worthy. 

Ignatz whined on his next gasp and gave one final jerk. 

He came on the beautiful man in front of him. 

Ignatz lurched forward and rested his head on Lorenz’s shoulder. His body shook as his dick exhausted itself. Cum stained Lorenz’s jacket but neither one seemed to care. Ignatz thrust one more time into his hand, just to feel the beauty of it. 

Slowly, he caught his breath, and sagged against Lorenz. 

Long fingers brushed through his hair and a gentle kiss was placed on his temple. 

“Was that good?” Lorenz asked in his ear. 

Ignatz pulled his spent dick away and began solely working solely on Lorenz. The lord gasped and his hand tightened on the back of Ignatz’s head. Ignatz pulled away just enough to see the details of his face. He stared at Lorenz over the brim of his glasses, saw him bite his lip, his eyes haze over in pleasure. 

He wailed as he came and threw back his head. It hit the frame and once again the canvas rumbled in its taut prison. 

Ignatz jerked Lorenz through his orgasm, torturing him, before bringing it to a slow and natural conclusion. 

They held each other in the low light, heated in that cold room by their own bodies. The two of them were a mess, covered in each other’s seed. Their breaths were a symphony that echoed off the tall walls. 

Underneath the blessing of the Sabbath. 

Lorenz was the first to laugh. 

“Well that was unexpected,” he said, brushing some hair out of Ignatz’s eyes. 

Ignatz smiled at him. He once again looked up to the painting and its majesty, hearing the whispers of an artist long gone and watching his work still settle from their love making. He turned a small coy smile back to the lord in his arms, his face flushed and his glasses skewed. He pressed his head against Lorenz’s and basked in something new. 

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I just wanted to write about Goya's Witches Sabbath
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	12. Hanneman/Gilbert - distracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you must,” Hanneman said. “Simply do it. Just don’t expect me to be an active participant.” 
> 
> Gilbert recoiled at that. He stared down at the back of Hanneman’s neck. 
> 
> “Are you sure?” he asked. 
> 
> But Hanneman had already descended back into focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  DISTRACTED SEX**
> 
> Not much to say about this one. The ship is cute, their supports are cute, old men dates are adorable, this kink is up there on my likes. . . . yup

Sunlight washed through the window and warmed Gilbert’s skin. He smiled and stretched like a well pampered cat, his feet poking out from under the sheets. His hand slid across the bed, hoping to find someone else enjoying the warmth, and instead only found empty sheets. Gilbert’s eyes blinked open to find the same conclusion as his hand did. The bed was empty. He sat up, propped up on one arm, and scanned the room. 

The bedroom was a far cry from Gilbert’s own. It was much loftier with taller ceilings to accommodate tall bookshelves. The dark wood shone handsomely in the soft sunlight that filtered through tall windows. Stained glass caught the light and danced along the floor. A round rug circled the room, plush to the touch and more than comfortable to walk on. The handsome desk sat at the far end of the room, the chair positioned with its back to the window, so the owner who sat at it could look inside his room and feel the sun on his back. 

The class of the room was seemingly all lost on its owner. 

Hanneman was hunched over his desk, completely lost in yet another book and focused solely on his research. He muttered under his breath, speaking in equations and calculations that were completely over Gilbert’s head. 

Gilbert sighed, leaning back on his elbows, and watched Hanneman work. 

He was unflappable. His focus was second to none. Gilbert almost envied it. The way his eyes pinpointed on a new fact, needing to unravel its mysteries until they were completely known to him. How he could poke and prod and search until he found exactly what it was that he was looking for. Answers. And more questions. 

The way he would look at Gilbert. 

Gilbert smiled in the sunlight, beams blinding him for just a moment as colors danced over his skin, but he would not look away from the man he shared a bed with. 

It was a mystery to Gilbert, how such a man relentlessly sought him out. How Hanneman was able to drag him out of his hole, out of hiding, and into the sun. How he constantly wanted his attention, how he could engage in conversation, how he found Gilbert simply _fascinating_. How they had fallen into bed together. 

Gilbert couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. 

He watched his lover go over another note, frowning, eyebrows pinched together, as he leaned forward to inspect it more closely. As if glaring at it would change the fact. He hummed in irritation and scribbled something without looking at it. It only endeared Gilbert fonder. 

He shifted and the blanket slid down his chest, exposing the still nudity of his body, the scars and blemishes that Hanneman kissed so sweetly. He knew it was a particular interest of his, something that Gilbert could use to his advantage. 

Hanneman didn’t look up. 

“Han,” Gilbert said. 

Still nothing. 

“Han,” Gilbert said with a little more forcefulness. 

“Hm?” Hanneman hummed, too deep in his own thoughts to do much more. He licked the end of his quill and a blot of ink kissed his cheek. 

Gilbert chuffed, amused. 

“Come back to bed,” he said. 

“Mmhmm,” Hanneman said, as if agreeing to some question. 

Gilbert turned to his side, propped up on one arm, and watched Hanneman work. One hand moved over the open tome, splayed open on its stand, on the top right corner of his desk. His finger moved over the words, eyes darting to an open scroll just below the book. He read something that clicked a fact into place in that brilliant mind and began furiously jotting down another note. The excitement lit up his face, his mustache tilting up with a closed mouth smile. 

Terribly endearing. 

“Hanneman,” Gilbert said if talking to a child. 

This time, he got no response. His lover was gone, too lost in his research to respond. 

Gilbert groaned and crawled out from underneath the covers. Despite the warmth from the stained glass window, the cold winter air permeated the room and kissed his bare skin. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Hanneman work, waiting for his attention still. When it did not arrive, he got up and crossed the room. 

Hanneman didn’t spare a single glance, not even as Gilbert approached. Not even as he slid his hand over the back of Hanneman’s shoulders. Not even as they settled in place and began to rub the tension out. 

“Han,” Gilbert said quietly, placing a kiss to the top of his head. 

No response save for the scrawl of a pen. Hanneman wrote a mile a minute in chicken scratch that only he could read. Gilbert began to dig his palms in, working out knots from sitting hunched over. Hanneman grunted softly, but didn’t seem to acknowledge any outside force. Gilbert ran his hands towards the middle, his thumbs up the back of Hanneman’s neck. 

Hanneman paid no heed when Gilbert’s big hand encapsulated the back of his neck. 

Gilbert tilted Hanneman’s head. The scholar went with it, tilting as if in thought. Which he probably was. With a pale expanse of skin exposed, he placed a soft kiss to the skin, humming as he did. Then another, more wet and open mouthed. 

Not even a flinch. 

Gilbert continued working on Hanneman’s neck, running his tongue over it, trailing his teeth. Hanneman went back to looking at the book, flipping to an index. Gilbert latched on and suckeled out a bruise. Hanneman flipped open another scroll that had curled up on his desk. Gilbert trailed his hand into Hanneman’s robe, searching for bare skin. Hanneman leaned off to the side to retrieve something from his lower drawer. 

Gilbert stopped it, gently taking hold of Hanneman’s chin and turning his head to face him. Eyes trailed behind still focused on his work and it wasn’t until Gilbert’s mouth was on his own that he finally gained Hanneman’s full attention. 

The kiss was the sweet good morning that Gilbert had been searching for. Hanneman had yet to wax his mustache and still tasted of sleep. He was scruffy and soft and all the sweet things that Gilbert loved about the man. The little ink blot was still wet and it only added to the everything of the kiss. 

Gilbert pulled away slowly, supremely happy that the morning was back on track. 

Hanneman only spared him a bland glance. 

“I am very busy Gilbert,” he said, going back to his work. “I had an epiphany this morning and I need to see if past trials support my theory.” 

Gilbert frowned pathetically, plans completely derailed. His hand still rested on Hanneman’s shoulder, patting the soft fabric of his robe, hoping that maybe he could coax his lover for some attention. 

Hanneman only began his chicken scratch again, looking over a listing of what looked like blood drawing results. The latest joted note was not up to his standards and he furiously scratched it out, immediately going into another. 

Gilbert pulled a handful of fabric off Hanneman’s shoulder, revealing pale skin to the early morning sunlight. 

“If you must,” Hanneman said. “Simply do it. Just don’t expect me to be an active participant.” 

Gilbert recoiled at that. He stared down at the back of Hanneman’s neck. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

But Hanneman had already descended back into focus. 

The suggestion was preposterous. It almost felt wrong, like he’d be using Hanneman rather than having a loving, reciprocating partner. However, the prospect of it did raise Gilbert’s attention. 

Gilbert knew what Hanneman’s focus looked like, knew how distracted he could become. It was almost a challenge. Could he love Hanneman strong enough to bring his attention back? 

Gilbert carefully pulled the corner of Hanneman’s robe down off his shoulder. Hanneman made no move to shrug it back. Gilbert lowered it all the way down to his elbow, revealing the soft arm. Gilbert ran his hand over soft skin, unused to true battle, only brought forth on the field when push came to shove. A scholar’s arm, sheltered by his books and his academia. 

Gilbert leaned down to place a gentle kiss to that thin shoulder.

No reaction. 

Hanneman frowned at the text in front of him, examining a drawn cross section of a human back. Gilbert closed his eyes, disregarding it, and trailing another kiss down Hanneman’s arm. 

It was so simple to slide the other side of the robe down, the fabric pooling at Hanneman’s elbows. Gilbert’s tongue slid up to Hanneman’s neck, trailing saliva. It chilled on Hanneman’s skin and the man shivered. Gilbert reached his hand around Hanneman’s slim body, finding an exposed chest. His nipples were hard and at attention, whether from the chill of the room or Gilbert’s attention, he did not know. All he cared about was the feel of it as he rolled the nipple between his finger and thumb. 

Hanneman merely picked up a stack of papers, tapping them so they were aligned, and leafing through them for the information he needed. 

Gilbert nibbled on Hanneman’s ear. 

Hanneman found what he needed and began reading. 

The whole concept was ridiculous, but Gilbert couldn’t deny that his body was responding very positively. He smiled, shifting his arms around his lover in a gentle hug and resting his chin on Hanneman’s shoulder. He looked over the data that Hanneman ran his finger over, not understanding a lick of it. His hands trailed over Hanneman’s chest, the dip in his sternum, down his stomach. He found what he was searching for, the slight tent in his pooled robe. 

Gilbert smiled into Hanneman’s cheek and planted a soft kiss. The scholar merely hummed and kept his attention on his work. 

Pulling away was a feat, but Gilbert managed. He stepped away and walked to the neatly packed drawers where Hanneman hid the oil. Hanneman didn't bat an eye, his focus securely on the papers. He sat back in the chair, resting his elbow against the chair arm, and leaned into his hand. Insufferably adorable. 

Gilbert took his rightful spot behind Hanneman and edged out the chair. With the papers in his hand, Hanneman barely took notice. Gilbert reached under Hanneman’s arms, lifted him to standing, and coaxed him to bend over the desk. They were on the same wavelength as in that moment Hanneman had a thought and desperately needed to jot it down. 

Gilbert lifted Hanneman’s robe. 

Another shiver ran down Hanneman’s back, but he otherwise seemed unphased. A beautiful slim ass was revealed to the cold air, ripe for the taking. He ran his hands over Hanneman’s spine. It was always a marvel to see just how big he was compared to the slim frame of his lover. His touch was slow as he savored every inch of Hanneman, until finally they came over the firmness of his ass. Gilbert gently pulled his ass open, revealing Hanneman’s most secret of places. 

There was a soft intake of air from Hanneman. Gilbert smirked, sparing a glance to see what he was doing. It could’ve been his exposure or it could’ve been a surprised noise at a new discovery. But he wasn’t muttering and was his quill shaking? Gilbert grinned and popped the cork on the oil. He coated his fingers, pouring a little over Hanneman’s hole, and put the bottle on the desk. Hanneman idly pushed it away from his work, careful not to spill it. 

Toying with Hanneman, making him moan and beg, was always an enjoyable activity. But it seemed it would be extra effort to get that particular reaction that morning. Gilbert settled with running a slicked up finger around Hanneman’s tight hole before carefully sliding it inside. 

The tightened grip on Hanneman’s quill was more than enough. 

Gilbert fingered Hanneman, twisting his finger, simply enjoying the feel and sight. It had been made plainly clear after all that this was for him and his enjoyment alone. Despite the restrained breath Hanneman was holding. 

He upped his fingers to two and began working on spreading Hanneman, preparing him. His fingers pumped in and out, scissoring against the strain. He curled his fingers, wriggled them, finally stuffed them fully into Hanneman’s ass. 

Hanneman huffed and it almost sounded like he was frustrated with his work. Almost. 

Satisfied that Hanneman was fully lubed up, Gilbert took the bottle of oil again. He pulled down his small clothes and slicked up his dick. When he placed the bottle back on the desk, he made sure to put it right in Hannemans’ way. Hanneman quickly flipped through the book on the stand, looking for some factoid or another, but it didn’t seem like he was reading. 

Slowly, carefully, Gilbert pushed into Hanneman’s warmth. He moaned, deep and low, appreciating the tight heat around his dick. His hands traced the shape of Hanneman’s hips, the feel of bones jutting out. He pulled Hanneman’s body to meet his length, thrusting forward as he did. Hanneman’s body jolted across his desk, rustling the papers he was laid out over. 

As Gilbert began moving and finding his pace, Hanneman was frantic. Finding new scrolls to open, new books to reference. He picked up his quill again, only to have to put it back down. 

Gilbert drove his hips home, _hard_. Enough to knock the air out of Hanneman’s body. At that, Hanneman wrote a quick note, punctuated it hard enough to tattoo the parchment, and threw down his pen. He gripped the far edge of the desk and threw back his head. 

“Gilbert!” he wailed on the next thrust. 

Gilbert smiled and leaned in, resting a wide palm on Hanneman’s back and pushing him into the desk. 

“All done?” he asked. 

“Finished,” Hanneman said. “Get to work!” 

Gilbert kissed Hanneman’s back.

“Yes sir,” he said against his skin before unfurling and doing just that. 

With each thrust, Hanneman moaned, loud and low, high pitched yelps, all the reactions Gilbert knew his lover for. He thrust back to meet Gilbert’s dick. He reached back to hold on to something. The perfect cooperative partner. 

Gilbert reached around Hanneman and wrapped his hand around a stiff weeping cock. He began stroking it, twisting his hand, squeezing just right. The pace of his hand matched the slow roll of his hips. Hanneman moaned and his head thunked against his desk. 

“Gilbert,” he moaned against the papers. 

His legs shook and he came, cum shooting out and hitting the handsome wood of his desk. He moaned, quiet and low, white knuckling the edge. Gilbert stroked him through it until he was sure Hanneman was finished. 

He made quick work of his own climax. 

A few more thrusts into his lover, quick and hard and _focused_ , and Gilbert came. He pounded, hips flush against hips, and filled the deep heat his dick was buried in. He panted, watching the base of his dick twitch, watching Hanneman’s legs quiver. 

He didn’t pull out, not when he was finished. Instead, he leaned down again and pressed his lips to Hanneman’s spine once more, peppering him with kisses, listening to his lover catch his breath.

“Did you get your epiphany down?” he asked against Hanneman’s skin. 

“As much as I could,” Hanneman said. “It will need further research.” 

Gilbert finally pulled out, just so Hanneman could properly turn to face him. He ran his hand over Gilbert’s stubble. 

“But I suppose that can wait.” 

Gilbert smiled against Hanneman’s lips and leaned in to fully kiss him, finally getting the morning he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	13. Hubert/Bernadetta - spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shall you be punished and then all transgressions will be absolved?” he said, his voice dropping to a dark timbre. “Do you really think it would be as simple as that?” 
> 
> Bernadetta’s breath caught. She was so pitifully small, draped in his shadow. Her eyes wide and her hands clasped under her chin, like a maiden who saw a mouse, not the deadly archer he knew her to be. 
> 
> “H-hubert,” she whispered. 
> 
> “Well,” he said. “It may be a start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  SPANKING  
> FINGIES IN THE MOUTH**
> 
> So the next 6 fills are like a run of my favorite things I've written this month. I just sit down and reread them and enjoy them and I hope you do too. 
> 
> This one was a little difficult to write bc. . . well its a little hot for me. I know, TMI, but I enjoyed it and I hope you do to.

Hubert knew when his wife was guilty. 

Bernadetta would be nowhere to be found. She would hide in corners, in shadows, behind doors. And when she was out in the open she would skulk around the halls, head low, hands pulled tight to her chest. The second she was spotted she would scurry away as quick as possible before she could be interrogated. On some level, Hubert was almost proud. 

He had come home half a day ago and had yet to run into his wife. He’d taken to moving quietly among the halls, keeping his steps as light as possible, peeking around corners before he took them. 

Hubert found Bernadetta in a guest bedroom. She stood in the middle of the room, back to the door, muttering to herself. Her focus was solely on her fretting and she didn’t notice him come in. 

There went his pride, she should know better. 

“Maybe if I sneak in and fix it real quick,” she muttered to herself. “No no that won’t work.” 

Hubert was careful to roll his foot, to make sure his shoes made no noise. He crept up on her slowly. 

“What if he never notices? If he never goes in, he’ll never notice!” she said, full of hope. Then shook her head. “No of course he’s going to notice, stupid Bernie.” 

Oh yes, she was definitely guilty. Of what, he did not know, but not that it mattered. 

The way she was curled in on herself, the way she was speaking, Hubert hadn’t seen this kind of behaviour from his wife since the academy. She’d grown such a backbone, well as much as for Bernadetta anyways, and it seemed while he was away, she had reverted back to her old ways. 

“What if I just hid in my room and locked the door?” she asked. “But its his room too. Oooh noo. I could just run away and join a band of brigands and never be heard from again.” 

“That would be a terrible misfortune.” 

Bernadetta shrieked and jumped in place, her arms flailing, coming up around her head to protect herself. 

“Don’t hurt me!” she squealed. 

Hubert merely stood in front of her, a single brow raised. 

“Is that what you deserve, Bernadetta?” he asked. “What you’ve done has incurred my wrath, has it not?” 

Bernadetta fretted, biting her lower lip and looking for an exit. Her hands were clamped around her face, pulling at her skin in distress. 

Hubert wasn’t sure what could put her in such a state. Nothing seemed wrong when he came home, everything was as he’d left it, as far as he could tell. But she was in such distress, why wouldn’t he take advantage of it. 

Hubert took a step closer. 

“Shall you be punished and then all transgressions will be absolved?” he said, his voice dropping to a dark timbre. “Do you really think it would be as simple as that?” 

Bernadetta’s breath caught. She was so pitifully small, draped in his shadow. Her eyes wide and her hands clasped under her chin, like a maiden who saw a mouse, not the deadly archer he knew her to be. 

“H-hubert,” she whispered. 

Hubert took her chin in his hand, his thumb pulling at her lower lip. 

It had been a week since he’d seen his wife and having her so near, so pitiful, looking up at him like that. It reminded his body just how much he loved her. He ran his thumb over her lip. 

“Well,” he said. “It may be a start.”

Her eyes widened in fear and for just a moment he was worried that she may faint standing up again. Hubert tilted her head and she shook like a small dog. 

“Perhaps I _shall_ punish you,” he said. 

“Ah! You’re going to pull out my fingernails and toenails and then I’ll be crippled for life and I won’t be able to continue on!” she shrieked more to herself than anything. Her eyes slowly rolled back in her head. 

Hubert recoiled, his hand dropping in shock. His wife’s imagination was always so much worse than his own mind. True, he was prone to doing unspeakable things to his enemies, but it seemed that Bernadetta was the true mastermind at new and creative ways to harm. 

“I will become useless. Useless Bernie. Only good in an asylum, locked away never to be seen again.” She froze, her mouth pulling into a small line, perked up at the idea. “Actually that might not be so bad.” 

Hubert rolled his eyes and took her by the wrist. She yelped and was dragged across the room. The bed creaked as he plopped down on it and Bernadetta yelped as she was draped over his lap. 

He started with one swift smack to her backside. 

Bernadetta jolted, a small stiff jump, her hands coming up to her chin, but that seemed to shut her up. 

Hubert rested his hand over the curve of her backside, rubbing it over her skirt, admiring it for its shape. 

“Yes,” he said. “This should be punishment enough.” 

Bernadetta looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and questioning, but before she could say a word, he whapped her again. All that came out was a pathetic little squeak and another little jump. 

“This will teach you to behave.” 

Another muted hit. Under his hand, he could feel her flesh impact and jolt and ripple. How nice it would be to see that, but he needed to warm her up first. He rubbed his hand in soothing circles, rubbing from one cheek to the other. 

“H-Hu-BERT–”

His hand fell hard from one cheek to the next. A swift smack to one side, then the other, and back again. Going on until she cried out. 

“Ah!” she wailed into the room, her head rearing back. 

Hubert once again went still. He pat her ass, grabbing a soft handful of it. It fit so well. His other hand ducked under her body and once again cupped her chin. He tilted her head back so big beautiful eyes looked up at him. 

“What do you think?” he asked. “Can my little bad girl be good for me?” 

Bernadetta’s breathing picked up, panting in that special way that was just for him. She bit her lip, her brows pinching, a small whine for when she wanted more. 

Hubert’s hand ran up her skirt, grabbing the flesh, digging his fingers in to the soft round curve of her ass. He leaned in, smiling sinisterly. 

“Can you?” he asked. 

She breathed in deep through her nose and nodded furiously. He kissed her nose. 

“Good girl,” he said, the phrase eliciting another one of those soft whines. 

With all the efficiency he would his spymaster duties, he flipped her skirt up to her back. Without sitting upright and keeping his face in hers, he spanked her ass again. She wanted to turn around, look away, but her open gasping expression was firmly fixed in place, forced to look at him by an ironclad hand. 

He worked her ass, the dull thuds picking up in volume as he worked from one cheek to the next. He smacked the right side again and again, giving it an individual attention until her little gasps turned into choked screams. 

Smiling, he sat up and let her face go, let her turn away from him again and hang her head. Her hands reached out onto the bed, gripping the sheets in desperate fists. 

Hubert admired his work. Bernadetta’s ass was on its way to a nice cherry red, one side more affected than the other. He rubbed soothingly at the skin again, his other hand trailing up and down her back, until she practically purred. He pulled her underwear up the center of her ass, tucking in one side then the other, exposing more skin. He tugged on the fabric, pulling it against her cunt, and delighted in the restrained moan that managed to escape her lips. Bernadetta slapped a hand over her mouth. 

“Come now,” Hubert said and gently removed it. “Don’t be so quiet, little mouse.” 

Bernadetta whimpered, her hand shaking in Hubert’s and holding on oh so tight. 

Hubert shifted, moving one of her legs around his knee so that she straddled his thigh, her ass propped up like a gift. He pawed at it, pulling at it, toying with it. Bernadetta’s grip tightened and her little noises were laced with want. 

With his next hit, Bernadetta’s whole body practically folded. Her ass jumped up off his leg, her back dipping. He smiled at her little yelp, at her little bend. Another hit, just to watch her dance again. 

He began going, alternating from side to side, watching her little body wriggle in his lap. His leg went up onto his toes, digging into her as he smacked her back down. Not that it was needed, she ground her crotch into his thigh, seemingly subconsciously. A small patch of wet grew across her underwear. 

Hubert’s hand stopped. Bernadetta’s ass had transformed from a pink blush to a bright red. The slightest touch made her wince, made her jump, made her moan in that panicked way she was known for. 

Like unwrapping a present, Hubert repositioned her over his leg, took her underwear by either side, and slowly rolled it down her ass, extracting it from the split in between, revealing a wanting cunt. 

“Now,” he said. “Lets begin your punishment, shall we?” 

“What!?” Bernadetta balked. “That wasn’t the punishment!?”

Bernadetta looked over her shoulder, trying to see what was happening next, but Hubert placed a firm hand on her head and forced her straight again. He bit the middle finger of his glove and peeled it away from his hand, spitting it to the side. His bare fingers rested against her heated skin. He pinched her flesh and the little mousey yelp that left her sounded more like a hiccup. 

“You will get 10,” he said. “And you will count them for me.” 

Bernadetta whined. 

“Is that understood?” he demanded. 

“Yes! Yes yes! U-understood!” Bernadetta babbled. 

“Good,” Hubert purred. “Lets begin.” 

He dropped his hand heavy on her ass. She threw back her head, but managed to regain herself. 

“O-one!” she called out into the room. 

“Good,” Hubert said again and his hand flew up, skimming across her skin, still hard enough to create that telltale crack. 

“Two!” 

The next time he swatted inwards, throwing some weight into it. 

“Three!” she wailed. 

Two more times, hard enough to clap out into the room, leaving brief white imprints on her ass. 

“F-four. . .” 

Bernadetta hung her head. Hubert rested his hand on her ass, waiting. 

“Four and?” Hubert asked, giving her a chance. 

“F. . .f. . .” 

He smiled, pressing hard on the painful red of her rear. She bit her lip and whined. 

“I suppose we’ll have to start from one again,” he said. 

“Wait!” Bernadetta gasped. “Wait! Five! It was five.” 

“Too late, Bernadetta,” he said. “You have to prove to me that you can keep count, otherwise we start again.” 

“Ooooh,” Bernadetta moaned and hung her head. 

Without warning, Hubert dropped another heavy hand, hard enough to ripple flesh. A wallop that cracked over her moan. 

"ONE!" she screeched. 

Hubert smiled wickedly, a sick sense of pride for his wife filling him. 

Another swift smack to that lovely cherry ass. 

"Two!" 

And another. 

"Three!" 

**SMACK**

"Four!" 

**WHACK**

"F-five!"

**WHAP SLAP CRACK**

"sixseveneight!"

The next hit was so hard, Hubert grit his teeth from the force of it. 

". . . " 

He looked down to his wife, her head hung low and fists clinging tight to the sheets. He waited, ready to end it early if he'd gone too far. 

". . . n-nine," she sobbed. Hubert could hear the tears. 

Hubert smiled softly. He kept his hand raised, holding off that last hit, sure of the pinpricks of pain that were slowly forming over Bernadetta's red ass. At the lack of a last hit, Bernadetta's head slowly twitched, looking over her shoulder. 

There were those tears. 

Hubert dropped his hand, the lightest hit yet, and left it solidly on her bare skin. 

"Ten," Bernadetta breathed. 

"Good," Hubert said. He gently stroked her face, petting her like a prized pet. "That's very good Bernadetta."

His hand danced over reddened skin. It had dropped another shade, going the angry red to stir a bull. Any more and she may start to bruise. A good stopping point for his lady. He trailed the tips of his fingers over her skin, pulling out goosebumps. It would be hot, circling around back to chilled. Bernadetta shivered. 

“Good girl,” Hubert said, hushed. 

His hand kept moving, sliding between her cheeks, down until long fingers found the wet of her cunt. 

“Good girls deserve a reward,” he said. 

Bernadetta gasped lightly as his touch, his fingers just toying with her folds. Only the barest of flicks over her clit. Hubert slid his gloved hand before her face. 

“Remove it,” he commanded. 

With shaking hands, she peeled off his glove. In one go, he slid fingers into her mouth and into her cunt. 

Hubert worked her over. He ran his fingers over her tongue, stroking it, pushing it down, sliding his touch to the back of his mouth until she gagged. All the while scissoring his fingers in and out of her, spreading her. He twisted and curled and pressed, finding that sweet ridge and stroking until it built up within her. Bernadetta closed her eyes, her back arched, her hips pushed back against his hand. A wet tongue danced between his fingers, uncontrollable and lost to her own sensations. She held onto his wrist for all it was worth, the glove still clutched between her fingers. 

Her moans were lewd, but still quiet as a mouse. The squelching of Hubert’s meticulous fingers covered up her pathetic little sounds. It wasn’t long before the tiny muffled begs, the panting, the whines of desperation rose in pitch. Bernadetta, when she wanted to be, could be quite loud. 

Hubert felt when she tipped over the edge. Her whole body jolted like it’d be struck by lightning. Her pussy twitched around his fingers. He grabbed her by the chin and held her head high, arching her into a position of presentation to show off. 

“Ah! Ah ah!!” Bernadetta gasped with each wave of orgasm. 

Hubert fingered her through it, pumping his fingers in and out of her wet heat until his arm hurt. Only stopping when she went limp, her head dangling heavy in his hand and her gasps transforming into one content sigh. 

The aching pulse of his fingers dropped to a dull pump. He curled his fingers once, just to see her twitch, just to hear her yelp. Only when he was satisfied did he pull out. 

Bernadetta was a dead weight across his lap. Her limbs might as well have been made of putty. 

Hubert stroked down the expanse of her spine, quietly cooing under his breath. He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, where her hair had left her vulnerable. 

While he did enjoy torturing his wife, the next part was his favorite. He’d pull her into his arms and hold her gently. He’d lotion her beaten backside. He’d curl around her, hold her close, and let her know just how much he’d missed her. Hubert smiled against her delicate skin, placing another kiss. 

“Does this mean you’re not upset I flooded your office?” Bernadetta asked weakly. 

Hurbert’s eyes snapped open. 

“You did what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End on a joke :V
> 
> I can't help myself
> 
> They're so cute and I love writing Hubert 
> 
> Its like every fill he's in he puts his fingies in a mouth. Just how he is I guess. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	14. Caspar/Ashe/Linhardt - double penetration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Linhardt was slow, Caspar was passionate. Where Linhardt was soft and gentle and methodical, Caspar was all excitement and heat and energy. He was worshiping with as much zeal and affection as one person could, near to the point of obsession. Linhardt filled in the spaces Caspar skipped over, Caspar brought the excitement and imagination Linhardt was slow to achieve. Ashe wouldn’t have it any other way. 
> 
> There was a benefit to having two lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  DOUBLE PENETRATION  
> THREESOME  
> FACE FUCKING (just a little)**
> 
> And a little fingies in the mouth bc I am me. 
> 
> So finished writing this one and was like this is longest one of the bunch but ooooooh ho ho ho no ate those words AND WE'LL GET TO THAT 
> 
> On my kinktober playlist, this one is What Is and What Should Never Be. At least the first part anyways.

There was a benefit to having two lovers. 

Ashe rocked his head back and sighed in pleasure. The sun shone through the window, heating up the little room. Despite being stark naked, it was still too hot and a fine coat of sweat kissed his skin. His hair clung to the back of his neck. He shivered as a bead ran down the dip in his spine. 

His head lolled, rolling completely around and crackling as it did. It dropped heavy between his shoulders and he blinked his eyes open blearily. 

The man beneath him was not in much of a better state. 

Linhardt almost looked composed. His eyes hung heavy, two seconds from sleep. His hair was splayed out over the pillow in a crown of green. But Ashe could see the way his mouth hung slack, could see his hair clinging to his temple. He saw the same desperation Ashe felt. 

They existed in that soft bubble, hanging on the precipice together. 

Linhardt was a slow lover. He was gentle and took his time. His touch was feather soft and trailed across Ashe’s skin, appraising and worshipping. Honey slow fingers and a sweet tongue that traced his freckles. Their love making was rife with foreplay, long languid kisses, soft strokes and quiet laughter. They always took their time, each session longer than the last, and together they savored it. 

That afternoon was no different. 

Ashe had been riding Linhardt for some time. The muscles in his thighs had begun to burn from pumping up and down on a relentlessly hard dick. Linhardt’s hands ran up and down Ashe’s thighs, his fingers a cool reprieve across his skin. They traced freckles up to Ashe’s hips, memorizing the shape, dipped back down, curling inwards, teasing the one place Ashe wanted him to touch. 

Ashe enjoyed the tantalization. 

His own hands rested on Lindhardt’s chest, using it as leverage to push up. He could reach between his own legs, find his own aching cock, but that was for later. 

Linhardt wrapped his hands around Ashe’s hips and he could feel the steady tense in his legs, the flexion of his abdominals. The bed groaned as Linhardt dug his heels in and ever so slowly pushed his hips up off the bed. His dick fucked deeper into Ashe, hitting him in places he couldn’t achieve on his own. 

“Lin,” Ashe breathed, his back arching and his head rolling back again. “Oh Lin.” 

If his soft little whine was any indicator, Linhardt agreed. 

Linhardt moved his hands high again, pushing against the skin. Knuckles brushed against the side of Ashe’s cock and he groaned. 

They could go for so much longer. 

The bed squeaked with ever slow push. A bird sang outside. Their heavy breaths mingled together in quiet harmony. 

Everything was quiet. Everything was still. 

Until the door slammed open. 

Caspar stood in the doorway with wide eyes. Ashe froze, stopping mid ride, to stare right back. Slowly, Caspar’s face contorted into a pout. 

“Caspar!” Ashe said breathlessly. 

“You’re having sex without me?” he whined.

Linhardt groaned and his head rocked back. 

“Come. On!” he whined and pushed up into Ashe. 

“We– AH!” Ashe squeaked as his whole body rocked from the force of it. As Linhardt kept going, Ashe’s little squeal turned into a slow moan. 

“You’re having sex without me.” Caspar frowned, his lower lip jutting out. 

“We thought.” Ashe gasped with each wave of Linhardt’s hips, his head rolling back. He was so close. “We thought we had more time.” 

“And _that_ makes it okay?” Caspar’s voice rose in pitch. 

“Close the door before someone sees.” Linhardt glared at Caspar. 

Not taking his eyes off his lovers, Caspar did as he was told and stepped into the room, slamming the door behind him. He was sweaty, his clothes sticking to his chest and his boots stank. He held a loose cloth in his hands, a feeble attempt to mop up the sweat. 

There was always a certain gleam that came to Caspar when he trained, a glow that lasted for hours after. It outlined his body, made him lean and strong, and did wonderful things to Ashe. Things that only spurred his orgasm closer to the edge. 

At the very least, Caspar didn’t look mad with the coupling pair before him. Just disappointed. 

“You’re back, ugh.” Ashe tried to speak, but Linhardt’s dick was too distracting. “You’re back early. Oh Lin.” 

“No I’m not,” Caspar said. “I’m late.” 

Ashe looked out the window and leaned back to view the clocktower through the trees. Was it really that late? How long had they been going for!?

Linhardt’s fingers dug into Ashe’s thighs as Ashe contorted backwards, trapping his dick tighter in his ass. The feel of it was mountainous on Ashe’s overly sensitive body. 

“Lin please,” he sighed. “I’m going to come.” 

Caspar feebly held the rag in front of him, twisting it this way and that. His lower lip quivered and his brows pinched together. His eyes darted between Linhardt and Ashe, looking for some sort of recognition. 

Linhardt rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t just stand there,” he scoffed. “If you’re going to whine about it, just join us already.” 

At that, Caspar’s face split into a brilliant grin. He dropped the rag on the floor and rushed across the room, pulling off one boot as he did. He was mid hop when Ashe held out a hand to stop him.

“Wait wait wait!” Ashe said, waving his hand. 

“What?” Caspar stopped mid hop. 

“Wash off first,” Linhardt said. 

Caspar bounced in place, looking between them again. Ashe could practically see the wheels turning, making the decision to listen to them or disregard them and dive in. He could never betray them like that. 

“Just don’t come yet!” he pleaded and pulled his boot off. He made his way over to the water basin. Water splashed over the edge as he poured too much, too quick. “Don’t come!” 

The request was hard to follow with Linhardt’s dick still pumping in and out of him, with his hands moving up Ashe’s thighs, ever closer to his aching cock. 

“Lin,” Ashe pleaded, still stuck in that slow place they’d been in for far too long. “Linhardt. Stop.” 

With great reluctance and a huff, Linhardt slowed to a crawl before eventually coming to a complete stop. Ashe deflated, attempting to catch his breath. He finally managed to open his eyes, his head heavy and lolling. He blinked through bleary eyes to take in the man beneath him. 

Linhardt was frustrated, his jaw locked ever so slightly and a small crease was beginning to form between his brows. To the layman, he was practically bored, but Ashe knew how to read him well. 

Across the room, something clattered. Caspar swore. Ashe managed to look over to see a fully naked Caspar. He was busy picking the fallen water basin off the floor, water already spilling over the rug. True to form, he was absolutely glistening. A stunning vision of beauty. Ashe groaned and it grew as a gentle touch danced over the underside of his cock. 

“Lin,” he whispered in pain. 

Linhardt whined and moved his hands away, tracing the shape of Ashe’s hips from his inner thigh to his waist. They stared at each other in pain, wanting nothing more than to go back to that place. 

“Caspar,” Linhardt said without looking away. “Hurry up.” 

“Coming coming,” Caspar said, stumbling across the room. 

He was halfway to a fall and caught himself by holding on to Ashe’s face. He fell into a rough kiss, all energy and fervor. He dug his fingers into Ashe’s face, squeezing his cheeks, his lips rough enough to bruise. He pulled, almost yanking Ashe off Linhardt’s dick. His tongue was quick to enter Ashe’s mouth, prodding and tasting and searching for interesting facts he already knew. Ashe laughed into it. He couldn’t help it. Caspar’s enthusiasm was always infectious. 

Below them, Linhardt whimpered at the display. Ashe could feel his legs twitch, eager to get back, but respectful of Caspar’s wishes all the same. 

The kiss ended with a comical wet sound and Caspar was quick to move from Ashe to Linhardt. Ashe laughed as Caspar all but crashed on to their lover, kissing him open and wet and obscene. Linhardt melted into it, eyes rolling back and almost falling asleep like that. 

“Slow down,” Ashe laughed. 

“Can’t,” Caspar said between kisses. “Gotta catch up.”

Where Linhardt was slow, Caspar was passionate. Where Linhardt was soft and gentle and methodical, Caspar was all excitement and heat and energy. He was worshiping with as much zeal and affection as one person could, near to the point of obsession. Linhardt filled in the spaces Caspar skipped over, Caspar brought the excitement and imagination Linhardt was slow to achieve. Ashe wouldn’t have it any other way. 

There was a benefit to having two lovers. 

Without breaking the kiss, Caspar crawled up on top of Linhardt, throwing one leg over his stomach and hovering over him. It presented Ashe with such a lovely display and he ran his hand over the curve of Caspar’s ass, admiring the muscle and strength and knowing just how snug it would be to bury himself in there. 

Linhardt moaned around Caspar’s tongue. His hips moved in a slow circle, reminding Ashe of exactly where he was. 

“Caspar,” Linhardt groaned, managing to pull away. “I need to breathe.” 

Caspar merely moved his head down, trailing down Linhardt’s neck, quickly sucking out bruises. Linhardt’s arms were trapped under his lover’s body, his hands clawing into Ashe’s hips. Another restrained jerk humped up into Ashe’s body. 

“Caspar, please I need to move,” Linhardt whined. His head fell back when Caspar bit into his shoulder. 

“Alright alright, you’re so impatient.” Caspar sat up, straddling Linhardt’s chest. He settled his ass against Linhardt’s sternum, shoving out a quiet _’oof’_ and scooted closer, aiming his dick for Linhardt’s mouth. 

“Don’t you dare put that thing in my mouth,” Linhardt scoffed. 

Caspar stopped. 

“What? Why?” 

Ashe could hear the pout in his voice. 

“You just came back from training!” 

“But I washed it. . .” 

Ashe sighed and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Caspar’s chest. He pulled his little lover against him and lined his lips up with Caspar’s ear. 

“I would be honored if you used my mouth,” he whispered and for good measure gave him a soft nibble on the lobe. 

Caspar’s little gasp was more than enough to make Ashe’s dick twitch in interest. Make his heart leap.

Caspar scrambled to his feet, still careful not to step on Linhardt despite his excitement, and turned to face Ashe. He barely had time to react before Caspar took him by the face and tilted his head up. Caspar’s thumb was rough as it pulled on Ashe’s lip and slid inside. He pulled on Ashe’s mouth, opening it wider to almost obscene. Ashe’s eyes went heavy and he moved his tongue against Caspar’s thumb, to show him just how ready he was. 

“You sure?” Caspar asked, jerking himself at the tantalizing sight before him. 

Ashe nodded. Caspar grinned. 

Keeping his thumb secure in Ashe’s mouth, he moved his dick inside. 

In all things, Caspar was eager. He tried to be slow, tried to savor the feel of his cockhead on Ashe’s tongue, but Ashe could taste the second he gave up. Caspar whined and his dick rammed the rest of the way into Ashe’s face. Ashe gagged at the instant pressure in the back of his throat, but being a seasoned sucker of Caspar’s cock, he knew what he’d be in for. 

Caspar moaned, his hand clawing and his thumb pulled Ashe’s mouth wider. His hips began to move, starting as slow as Linhardt would. Below him, Linhardt began to once again undulate into Ashe. Ashe, never one to be passive, moved with them. His hands slid up Caspar’s legs, up his thighs, over the globes of his ass, and he squeezed possessively. His eyes rolled back as Caspar picked up speed. He listened to the sweet grunts of his lover on top and the soft sighs of the one below. 

Ashe let his body go pliant as the men he loved did as they pleased.

Linhardt’s hands moved over his thighs. Caspar’s hands roamed through his hair, circling his head. Linhardt thrust once and hard, making Ashe choke around Caspar’s dick. Caspar held the back of Ashe’s head and drove down hard enough to press Ashe’s nose to his stomach. 

Linhardt’s smooth touch wrapped around his dick.

Ashe’s eyes fluttered. He breathed in deep as fingers coiled around his shaft. It wouldn’t be long now. . . 

“Hey! I got an idea!” Caspar interjected. 

Ashe opened his eyes and looked up the powerful expanse of Caspar’s body. He looked positively mischievous. 

“Do you wanna. . . ya know?” he asked. 

Ashe slowly pulled off Caspar’s dick, not losing any finesse and watching the way he could still make Caspar squirm. He blinked and clicked his jaw back into place. 

“Do I want to what?” he asked. 

“You know,” Caspar said. He held up two fingers, his other hand forming an O, and pounded both fingers into the empty space. 

Ashe blinked one eye at a time. He’d been fucked for so long that it was hard to think straight. When it registered what Caspar was asking, he leaned over to look questioningly at Linhardt. 

“Whats he on about?” Linhardt sighed, stopping his hips again. 

Caspar whirled in place and made the motion again, this time with more gusto. Linhardt, in much the same state as Ashe, frowned up at Caspar before heaving another heavy sigh. His head flopped against the pillow and he looked side long at Ashe. 

“Its up to you,” he said. 

Like a kid waiting on presents on his birthday, Caspar whirled back to Ashe. Ashe soaked it in and let it wash over him. A slow smooth smile spread his face. 

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

Caspar crowed and once again grabbed Ashe by the face to plant a very brief, very hard, very wet kiss. He all but launched off the bed and went for the dresser. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he looked around the room to find the bottle of oil on the bed where Linhardt had left it. 

“And we were having such a nice afternoon,” Linhardt complained. 

“And we still are,” Ashe said quietly, his hands sliding up Linhardt’s chest. 

Languidly, Ashe stretched out over him. The angle was awkward, Linhardt having to lift his hips to keep the connection between them, but the slow delicious kiss was worth it. Linhardt’s hands slid up Ashe’s flank, feeling his sides, before wrapping around his shoulders. Ashe gently coaxed one hand down to link their fingers together. 

Slow and sweet. 

Once again interrupted by passion. 

Oil slicked fingers kissed the edge of Ashe’s already filled hole. They danced around the edge before one slipped inside, just up and over Linhardt’s dick. Ashe pulled back from the kiss and groaned. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. 

“Too much?” Linhardt asked. 

Caspar paused, waiting on an answer. When Ashe shook his head, the finger continued. 

Ashe closed his eyes, feeling his already stuffed world become all the more invaded. His breath huffed heavy on Linhardt’s face. A soft touch trailed down his cheek and he opened his eyes to see Linhardt wearing an expression of concern and pride all in one. Ashe leaned in and continued that slow kiss they were sharing. 

When the second finger entered, he whimpered but did not break away. 

“Yes,” Caspar said, scissoring his fingers and running his free hand over Ashe’s backside. “Thats it. There you go.” 

The words of praise and Linhardt’s hand running through his hair helped ease Ashe into the cool calm of acclimation. Linhardt’s hand trailed down the dip of his spine. Caspar’s went up the small of his back. They met, somewhere in the middle, and briefly clasped hands. Not for too long. Caspar pulled back, opened Ashe’s ass wider, and slipped in a third finger. 

Ashe pulled away from his kiss with a soft wail. His head rocked back before drooping heavy, resting on Linhardt’s shoulder. Long arms wrapped around him again, encapsulating him in safety. 

“Too much?” he asked. 

Ashe laughed, tickling Linhardt’s skin. 

“It is a lot,” he said. Caspar spread him and he groaned again, feeling the stretch and the pleasure crawl over his skin. “But I want it.” 

Caspar twisted his fingers and began to pump them, running them over and against Linhardt’s dick, squeezed in that too tight space. Enough to make Linhardt groan with Ashe. Caspar leaned over Ashe’s back, pressing down on it as he did. 

“Good,” he said. “I’ll give it to you.” 

“Hurry up,” Ashe breathed over his shoulder. 

Caspar grinned ruthlessly. He leaned up to kiss Ashe’s cheek, but was just out of reach, his lips pursing to just barely brush freckled skin. He was quick to get on his knees, pull his fingers out of Ashe’s ass, and line his dick up to replace them. 

“Don’t be too eager,” Linhardt warned. “You remember last time.” 

“I’ll go nice and slow,” Caspar said. 

The cockhead rubbed up against what available space they had, hitting Linhardt’s dick. Then slowly, too slowly, Caspar pushed. Bit by agonizing bit, Ashe was stretched to accommodate two dicks. He was squeezed and pushed and brought to a limit he adored. The place where he knew he’d break through and only get better. 

The moan that came from Ashe was squeezed involuntarily from him. Below him, Linhardt panted, his hands gripping Ashe’s hips a little too tight. 

“Caspar,” he gasped. “Oil.” 

“Huh? Oh right.” 

Caspar stopped moving and that was somehow worse. Without the constant movement, Ashe deflated. His neck felt boneless. His arms buckled trying to hold up his own weight. 

More oil coated over his hole, over the two dicks inside him. Caspar ran his hand up and down his shaft, coating it, coating Ashe, coating Linhardt. Making a slippery mess of the three of them. Ashe could feel him jerking himself off into Ashe’s ass, could feel his fist bump up against Ashe’s already stuffed ring. 

“Caspar. Please,” he whined. 

“You two are so demanding!” 

With a great shove, Caspar forced himself the rest of the way in. Ashe shouted into the quiet of the room and Linhardt ground his teeth, the two of them at the mercy of their rambunctious lover. Caspar’s hands dug into Ashe’s hips and he gave out a long happy groan of his own. 

The three of them held together like that, the room once again descending into the blissful quiet of the day, as they caught their breaths. 

“Was that. . .” Caspar said between breaths. “Too eager?” 

“Yes,” Linhardt said. 

“No,” Ashe insisted at the same time. 

Linhardt and Ashe shared a look. Linhardt glared up at his partner, but the tension could never last long. Ashe broke it with a laugh. Giggles transformed into another low moan as Caspar began pumping. 

The pace was forgiving, at first. A slow roll of the hips that left Ashe gasping for air. It didn’t take long for Linhardt to join them, once again moving in and out of Ashe’s heat. The two dicks found a rhythmn to work against one another, fucking their shared lover. 

Overstimulation raged across Ashe’s exhausted body. It took all he had just to hold himself up. His arms shook, quivering at the stretch. His legs and ass ached in the most pleasant way possible. He dropped his head, a tired smile etched on his face. Hands touched him everywhere. Caspar’s fierce grip on his hips, Lindhardt’s hands on his back. There was not much he could do, but take it.

Ashe felt like royalty. 

Impatience hit Caspar, as it always did. The grip on Ashe’s hips became downright possessive. Strong hands pulled on Ashe, the pace of Caspar’s cock picked up, his hips slapping furiously against Ashe’s ass. He could practically hear Caspar’s feral grin, the whine under his grunts. 

It was too much. Linhardt stopped, no longer able to keep up and joined Ashe on the ride. Ashe’s back arched, his body shifting to still accommodate both dicks. 

Caspar working for all three of them. 

Soft hands framed Ashe’s face. Below him, Linhardt was painfully, longingly staring up at Ashe, as if he were precious. 

“I’m going to come,” he said. 

No sooner than he said it, Linhardt threw back his head and groaned. Cum filled Ashe’s ass, squelching obscenely as Caspar kept fucking. The hands framing Ashe’s face gripped a little too tight, but Ashe was too busy watching Linhardt’s ecstasy. 

He couldn’t hold it anymore. Ashe reached between their bodies and his shaking hand found his painfully hard cock. Watching Linhardt, feeling Caspar, Ashe could only sob at the sudden relief. 

Linhardt could barely catch his breath, his eyes going wide. 

“Caspar,” he said. “Caspar please. Let me out.” 

Caspar growled, too far gone for words. He manhandled Ashe and Linhardt, freeing his spent lover, and immediately went back to the punishing pounding. One of those strong hands grabbed Ashe by the shoulder and bent him back like a bow. Ashe kept jerking himself, sobbing and whining and pleading in small noises as he did. His whole world focused on all the sensations of pleasure that clouded around him. 

All at once, without any warning, he came. 

Ashe’s body convulsed, held up by Caspar’s hand. He shouted into the quiet of the room, cum roping out on Linhardt’s chest. His world spun, rocking with Caspar still picking up speed. 

Ashe deflated, his hand limply falling from his cock. Caspar let go of him and Ashe dropped to all fours, spent and exhausted more than he thought possible. 

Thankfully, Caspar stopped his fucking. He pulled out, hands going gentle as they roamed over Ashe’s ass, his back, his hips. Ashe could still hear him grunting, could feed the quick movements of his hand as he jerked himself off at the sight of the pile of spent men.

Cum came hot and sticky onto Ashe’s lower back. 

He was nothing but a pile of exhaustion. He’d been tired before Caspar showed up, but in that moment he had nothing left to give. Ashe blinked and it was difficult to open them again. 

Caspar practically tackled Ashe with a hug and flopped onto the bed, dragging Ashe down with him. His hand flopped limply across Linhardt’s chest, his leg draped over the long limbs. He was nothing more than a rag doll. A happy little noise radiated from Caspar as he snuggled into the back of Ashe’s neck. 

Silence slowly descended over the room. Dust motes danced in the sun as it dropped into the afternoon hours. Without their grunts and screams, the quiet sounds of the outside world floated in through the window. In the distance, the clock tower chimed the hour. 

Ashe smiled into the pillow, ready to give up consciousness. 

There was a benefit to having two lovers. 

“Okay,” Caspar said, sitting up. “Who’s ready for round two?” 

“I can’t feel my legs, Caspar,” Ashe whined. 

Linhardt was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three of them are so sweet and adorable and Caspar alone is a vaudeville act :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	15. Ingrid/Sylvain - daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh Daddy~!”
> 
> Ingrid was two fingers deep into Sylvain’s ass and froze. She leaned over in an attempt to look him in the eye. 
> 
> “. . . what?” she dropped like a brick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  DADDY  
> PEGGING  
> BREEDING PRESS**
> 
> Ingrid deserves to be called Daddy :)

“Oh Daddy~!”

Ingrid was two fingers deep into Sylvain’s ass and froze. She leaned over in an attempt to look him in the eye. 

“. . . what?” she dropped like a brick. 

Sylvain smiled over his shoulder. 

“Keep going, Daddy.”

Ingrid clicked her tongue and roughly removed her fingers. She slapped her hand onto Sylvain’s presented ass and leaned in. He groaned at the spank and over dramatically bit his lip.

“What about me,” she said, waving a hand over her half clothed body. “Is Daddy to you.” 

“All of it,” he said with pleasure. “Please fuck me hard. . . Daddy.” 

“Don’t,” she said. “Or I will leave you here.” 

“Oh come on, Ingrid.” Sylvain flopped over onto his side. He lounged on one propped up arm, his other draped luxuriously over his hip. “Loosen up. Have a little fun.” 

“I _was_ having fun,” Ingrid said. “Until you ruined it. As per usual.” 

Sylvain scoffed and rolled back his head. 

“Spoil sport,” he said staring up at the ceiling. 

Ingrid, still on her knees, put her hands on her hips.

“Do you want to fuck or not?” she asked. 

“Yeah yeah,” he said, getting back up onto all fours. “Fuck away.” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes and questioned why she even agreed to this. On a regular basis no doubt. But Sylvain settled into position. Head down, ass up, legs spread. He was surprisingly big. He’d always towered over her, but with his clothes off, she could see just how strong he was. There was more than enough ass there to eat and a thick meaty cock hung between his legs. He nestled his head between his arms, blissfully smiling as if he were settling into sleep.

Ingrid huffed, taking in the display in front of her. She sighed, grabbed the oil, and smeared some on her fingers. Before going back in, she leaned in to bite where she had spanked. 

“Oooh,” Sylvain said with nothing but pleasure. 

Ingrid slipped her fingers back in to pick up where she left off. She wriggled them inside his ass, spread them, prodded. Each time Sylvain had some lewd noise to make. He was always such a show boat. Ingrid usually didn’t mind, it was kind of a turn on, to be cheered on like that. He was always so encouraging and communicative, letting Ingrid know exactly what he liked. And he liked a lot. It was one of the only times he was that honest with her. 

“Ugh yeah,” Sylvain said, pressing his head to the bed. “Fuck me –” 

He wanted to say it so bad. Ingrid wondered where this new fixation came from, but decided to ignore it. 

Instead she leaned in and pressed her tongue to the tip of Sylvain’s hole, still dancing her fingers inside. Sylvain moaned, genuine and loud. She could taste the oil, but still rimmed his ring. Her fingers pressed, petting him where it felt the most, stimulating secret parts that Sylvain loved. 

Spoiling him. 

“Fffff,” Sylvain hissed. 

He was holding back again. 

Ingrid pulled her fingers out, tongued inside once, and decided that was enough for then. Sylvain buried his face and gave a small little _’mmph’_ into the pillow. Ingrid rose off the bed and went for the harness that sat on the dresser. She stepped into it one leg at a time, aware of his eyes on her. 

Ingrid looked at Sylvain side long. He was nestled into the pillows, only one amber eye visible. It darted up her form, taking in shapely legs and the way the harness hugged her hips. He met her gaze and his smile widened. 

She tightened the strap with a fierce tug. 

“Nff,” he said, as if he’d been struck. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes and went for the dildo. 

“Oh oh wait!” Sylvain said, jumping to action. 

He pulled open the side table drawer and fished out another dildo. Larger and ribbed, shaped to be more realistic. It was brand new, fresh out the packaging. He waved it at her and the thick instrument flopped obscenely. 

Ingrid’s dull eyes moved back and forth with its waggle. They flicked up to the man face down on the bed. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but took it anyways. 

“You like it,” he accused and flopped back down on the bed with a _whump_. 

She spoiled him. 

It slipped into the harness just fine, not needing the extra padding. It curved up, pointing up at her like a real dick would. Ingrid had to admit, it felt good to be strapped with such a tool. 

She took the lube and ran it up and down the plastic, all while looking at the display before her. Sunkissed skin, a perfect peach shaped ass, well taken care of body. Sylvain was . . . fun. She had to admit that at least. 

With a swift tug, Ingrid yanked Sylvain’s hips up to presentation. He went up on his knees, keeping his head down and his back arched. She pulled open his ass, exposing him and leaving the man vulnerable. 

“Might need to stretch you out a little more for this,” she muttered, thumbing his hole. 

“Just go slow,” he said into the pillow. “Be gentle with me. Daddy.” 

The smack against his ass cracked through the room, followed by muffled laughter. He was far too pleased with himself. 

Ingrid positioned herself behind him. She lowered his hips, spread his legs wider, a thick disregarded cock dangling between his legs. She aimed the silicon to his budding hole, rubbing the realistic cock head until he twitched in anticipation. Carefully, she urged her dick inside. 

Sylvain’s head reared back and his chin hit the pillow. At first, he made no noise, only gasped open mouthed as she filled him inch by stretching inch. At some point, he began to moan, sounding more like the wail of a past on spirit. Whether he was being over dramatic or sincere Ingrid didn’t care. She liked this show. 

The cock was thick all the way around. His ass spread to accommodate it, straining against its girth. Halfway in, Ingrid poured more lube over the dick.

Sylvain grunted. He bit his lip and whined, his eyes closing in expectation. Ready for whatever she would give to him. He wriggled, his ass swaying back and forth, and Ingrid knew.

She’d give him a pounding that night. 

She’d spoil him. 

Halfway in, Ingrid leaned over the expanse of his back. She had to reach to grab a fistful of red hair and yanked his chin off the pillow. Pinning his shoulder down, she leaned in as close as she could and whispered in his ear. 

“Who’s your Daddy?” 

Sylvain half laughed, half squealed in delight. Ingrid thrust her hips _hard_ and any noise was choked off. The next press was just a simple roll of her hips, just to get the feel of his ass. Sylvain moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

The night was finally off to a good start. 

Ingrid smiled ferally, her lip curling, and she ran her fingernails down his back. Sharp red lines trailed behind her, pulling out more mewls from the big man. 

“Daddy please,” he whined into the pillow. 

“Thats my good boy,” she said and grabbed his hips. It took some effort to heave his big body back on to her dick, but well worth the happy little choke that gurgled in his throat. 

The first few thrusts of her hips were merely to find the rhythm, to loosen up his hole and be able to take the dicking she gave him. Depending on the night it could be sweet and slow or vigorous. It was no different than sparring. Watching his rueful, obnoxious grin as he taunted Ingrid across the ring, spear down and ready to take whatever she gave him. Sylvain knew how to rile her up.

Some days she was downright vicious. 

That night she was. 

“Daddy,” Sylvain gasped as Ingrid picked up speed. “Daddy!” 

The pitch of his begging rose, only to be drowned out by the smack of her hips against his ass. Ingrid dragged him again, his arms going straight and trailing behind, the small of his back folding nicely. 

“Ah Daddy yes!” he called out. “Right there, yes.” 

Sometimes Sylvain needed to be shut up. 

Ingrid stopped. Not knowing what she was doing and being denied his _’right there’_ , Sylvain turned to see. Not a moment later, her foot rested on the back of his head and pushed him into the pillows. 

Ingrid rotated, turning her dick inside Sylvain’s ass until she was practically seated side-saddle on her pony. She kept one hand firmly on the small of his back, making sure to keep that delicious bend. She had to practically stand on the bed, squatting over him, and used the power of her back thigh to continue fucking into him without completely squashing his head. Sylvain moaned open mouthed into the pillow, loud enough to be a scream, but muffled under layers of down. 

“Thats it,” she cooed. “Take it.” 

The dick threatened to pop out, pulling at his ass. Ingrid held it at its base, aiming her weapon right on target. 

“Take it like a good boy.” 

Ingrid ground her hips and got just the reaction she wanted. Another muffled moan into the sheets. Sylvain struggled under her foot, turning his head and wriggling free. He gasped for air, her heel digging into his cheek, drool slipping out of the side of his mouth. 

“Fuck me harder, Daddy,” he said, slurred under the press of his face. 

That stopped Ingrid in her tracks. She barked out an incredulous laugh, the high pitched crack of it echoing off the walls. 

“Harder?” she asked. 

“Uh huh.” Sylvain nodded underfoot. 

“You want it harder?” 

“Yes please.” 

Ingrid pulled out. Sylvain whimpered at the loss of a dick in his ass and a foot on his face, but he paid attention all the same when Ingrid dropped to a knee in front of him. She leaned in real close, her hand roughly grabbing his hair. 

“Yes please. . .what?” 

The smile that bloomed across Sylvain’s face was warm and genuine. Slow as molasses and giddy as a kitten. 

“Yes please, Daddy,” he whispered. “Fuck me harder. _Please_ Daddy.” 

Ingrid was quick to push Sylvain over. He ragdolled onto his back, the air coming out of him in a soft _oof_. She moved with all the speed she would on the battlefield, positioning her body and her cock between his legs, spreading him nice and wide for her. 

“Spoiled,” she said and slid her dick back into his slick. 

Nice and slow, she pushed into him. It was an easy slide with all the spent lube coating his ass, his used hole spread open. She could have gone back to her relentless pace, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to watch that sweet slow moan escape his body, watch his head roll back with the crawl of her dick. 

The point was to press his legs closer and closer to his chest. 

Keeping her hands securely on the back of his thighs, she used every ounce of strength to mold Sylvain to her liking. She folded him in half, pushing him down to the bed. Sylvain’s eyes shot open with pleasure induced panic when she pushed him farther than he had been expecting. She pushed up against his limits of flexibility and then right past that. Until his knees just about hit the bed. 

“Ah!” Sylvain choked, small and quiet. A distressing juxtaposition coming from someone so large. 

“There,” Ingrid breathed when she bottomed out. “Better.” 

Making sure to keep his legs pinned, she stroked up and down those powerful thighs. She hummed, watching him acclimate and the stress seep from his face. His legs twitched and jerked, threatening to cramp, but he made no complaint. 

“Now,” Ingrid said with authority. “Is my little boy ready?” 

Sylvain wrenched a hand free and gripped his stiff dick. 

“Yes Daddy.” 

He could barely finish the word before Ingrid snapped her hips forward. The jolt of it protested all the way through her abdominals. Her legs were spread wide, her ass pumping her forward to meet him. A pure and delicious strain on her body. A few quick thrusts and Ingrid had found her grueling rhythm once more. 

Sylvain jerked at his dick and matched her speed. His hand went double time, but his eyes never left her. He watched her, unblinking. The corners wet, smudged and hazed over. There was a show for him to consume as Ingrid rammed him into the sheets. 

All the same, Ingrid got a show of her own. A big man driven to tears, folded in on himself. She watched the rolls of a strong core bend and flex with each hit, watched the strain in his throat as he tried to swallow, watched the precum weep from a thick cock head. Hungry eyes locked in with his again and she grinned, showing teeth. 

“Does Daddy’s little boy want to come?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he whined, practically sobbing. His hand picked up, tightening around his dick. “Yes, Daddy, please.” 

Begging was such a good look on him. 

Ingrid’s abdominals screamed at her as she snapped her hips once more, coming to a shocking halt against his. The woven restraints of the harness dug tight into his skin, the obscene dick filled him up, the strong woman pushed him down. She leaned in, adding to the pressure. 

“Come for Daddy.” 

Sylvain threw back his head and cried out into the room. Cum spurt from his dick, arching as it leapt to his chest, making a mess of the man. He kept jerking himself through it, bucking against Ingrid’s cock, deliberately overstimulating himself through the orgasm. 

An exquisite show. 

Ingrid had no need to move, Sylvain did all the work fucking himself to exhaustion. He panted, he lost control, his head lolled haphazardly, eyes rolled back until the whites showed. All Ingrid had to do was hold him down and wait. She didn't move until he stopped. 

The second Sylvain signed, spent and content, Ingrid attacked. 

Almost too forcefully, if his yelp was any indicator, she pulled out of him. She crawled up his stained body, letting his legs fall painfully back into place, ripping the harness off as she did. It fell somewhere, on him, on the bed, on the floor, it didn't matter. Sylvain had a second to gasp for air before she straddled his face and _sat down._

"Yeah," Ingrid breathed, just trying to catch up with her body. "Won't be long." 

She took a fistful of Sylvain's hair, forcing his head where she wanted, but the big man had already gotten to work. A silver tongue made quick work, lapping at her, in her, probing and finding all her most hidden spaces he knew so well. 

"That's it," she hissed. "Make me come, make Daddy come." 

Sylvain wrapped big hands around her hips, fingers digging into her ass and pulled down on her as much as she drove his face up into her cunt. Ingrid wriggled down on him until she couldn't. Until her body seized, going still, air catching in her throat as she teetered on the cusp. 

Her body jolted as if touched by lightning. Her back arched. Her head rocked back stiff. A small undignified squeak came from her throat but she was too far gone to care. Her legs squeezed tight around Sylvain's head, trapping them both in the swirling heavenly hell of her orgasm. 

A solid frozen moment crystalized over the room before Ingrid flopped away, if only to get away from Sylvain's talented tongue. She shivered and jolted, still coming down from her high and willing her eyes to open again. 

Gentle calloused hands stroked down her thigh, still draped across Sylvain's neck. Ingrid propped her head up to look at the man who gave her an earth shattering orgasm. 

He wore a shit eating grin. 

"Thank you Daddy," he said in his most nasally, childish voice. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes and flopped back down on the bed with a groan. Sylvain laughed and Ingrid had nothing in her to resist laughing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I spoil the heck out of Sylvain this month. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	16. Dimitri/Felix - muzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix entered the training ground and stared down his opponent. Blood pumped in his ears and anticipation raced across his skin. Competition skewed his focus, hyped him up. He wanted to win, _needed_ to win. All he could think about was his domination over the other. But no, he needed to be strategic. He needed focus. 
> 
> He glared at the man across from him. 
> 
> On the other side of the ring stood Dimitri, stripped naked as the day he was born, staring down Felix like a wild animal. Where Felix was an angered calm, Dimitri was nothing but bare bloodlust. He glared, the corner of his lip twitching, just as anxious as Felix was to get this started. 
> 
> He would tear Felix apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  MUZZLE  
> COLLAR  
> WRESTLING/FIGHT SEX**
> 
> I am fascinated with fight sex. Its just. . . so oddly interesting to me. And honestly thought it would fit this ship so here we are. 
> 
> Also muzzle on Dimitri is just so good. Boar deserves to be muzzled.

Felix entered the training ground and stared down his opponent. Blood pumped in his ears and anticipation raced across his skin. Competition skewed his focus, hyped him up. He wanted to win, _needed_ to win. All he could think about was his domination over the other. But no, he needed to be strategic. He needed focus. 

He glared at the man across from him. 

On the other side of the ring stood Dimitri, stripped naked as the day he was born, staring down Felix like a wild animal. Where Felix was an angered calm, Dimitri was nothing but bare bloodlust. He glared, the corner of his lip twitching, just as anxious as Felix was to get this started. 

He would tear Felix apart. 

Dimitri was so much bigger than Felix, stronger than him. He could break Felix in two. He could pin him down, knock him out, practically throw him across the room. He would come at Felix with raw strength and that would be enough to rend Felix asunder. Felix had to use his wit, had to use his speed. He had to look for that half second where Dimitri fully gave into his animalistic need and in that moment outsmart him. 

Felix had to be the calm even force. 

He pulled at the tie around his waist and his pants dropped to the dirt. Without breaking eye contact, he kicked him pants aside, leaving him just as bare as his opponent. 

Dimitri’s cock stood tall at attention, hungry for victory as his owner was. Felix wasn’t far behind, but that was just one more element that he couldn’t let control him. 

The muzzle sat heavy in his hand, collar and leash rolled up within. He tapped it against his thigh and metal clinked against metal. A small little song to taunt Felix’s prey. 

It worked. Dimitri took a stalking step closer, his hands coiling into fists. Even from across the grounds, Felix could hear his low growl. Felix tapped the muzzle again. 

He’d have to fight one handed. He’d learned once that leaving the muzzle or the leash behind would only leave an opening. Dimitri would go for it if he could, use it to his advantage. The one time Felix had been choked out and left unconscious was the only lesson he needed. 

He tapped the muzzle again. 

Dimitri stalked forward another step, but made no move to attack. They both knew whoever made the first move would be at a disadvantage. Especially if it was Dimitri. Open and charging like that would give Felix enough time to read him, enough time to react. A lesson that apparently Dimitri had learned. 

Felix looked over Dimitri’s body. Over the scars and the marks. The memories that he’d acquired and been plagued by. All the things a good king supposedly should have. He had known and was known. He was a beast. 

And he relied on Felix to tame him. 

Felix made the first move. 

As Dimitri would, he charged forward, head down and arms tucked in. Dimitri reacted, moving to meet his prey and ready for the direction he would go. In a battle of strength, Felix would lose. Dimitri was waiting for Felix’s pivot, to the left or the right, to go around and try to get behind Dimitri. 

Felix went down. 

He wrapped his arms around Dimitri’s thighs, hoping to stop the big man in his tracks. If the element of surprise was on his side, Dimitri would lose his balance and fall. 

Only half of that happened. 

Dimitri did wobble, but did not collapse. He dropped his hands heavy on Felix’s back and a lightning strike of pain shot up his spine. He hit the dirt. _Hard._

Dimitri descended upon him. If Felix was pinned, then it was over, as simple as that. The best way to stop Felix from fighting back was to knock him out, but Dimitri preferred him awake. To keep the adrenaline high as they moved into the next part of this fight rather than wait for Felix to rouse. 

But Felix would not stop. Could not stop. 

He was quick to wrap his legs around Dimitri’s neck and pull him down to the ground, moving out of the way so Dimitri’s weight didn’t pin him. He squeezed and the gag of air in Dimitri’s throat was simply delightful. A moment to enjoy rather than just survive. Felix linked a hand in between Dimitri’s legs and tried to get the upper hand, to flip them over. He climbed aboard Dimitri, pushing the big man face down in the dirt and pulling at least one leg up. 

A heavy cock on full display. 

It was the wrong direction. He wouldn’t be able to fix the muzzle in place with his ass on the back of Dimitri’s head. 

His king bucked. He reached behind him and slapped at Felix’s legs. He _snarled_ and Felix could _feel_ it. 

Reassessing the situation, Felix hopped off. Dimitri was on his feet in a flash. They took the moment to stare each other down, hands up at the ready. Felix took a slow side step and Dimitri did the same, his single eye fixed and unblinking. Dimitri reached out, testing the waters, and Felix smacked his hand away. Again and another smack. On the third, Dimitri attacked. 

At that distance, it was quick work for Dimitri to grab Felix and he managed to get the smaller man to his knees. Felix dropped hard, a strong arm wrapping around his throat. Air immediately cut off and he knew it was only a matter of time before his vision went as well. He gagged, reaching back to smack at Dimitri, at the disadvantage with only one hand. 

He needed to move. He couldn’t lose. Not to this _boar_. 

Felix wanted to win. 

Using a viper quick fluidity, Felix grabbed Dimitri by the shoulder and slid back, between the man’s tense legs. 

Dimitri went up and over. 

Legs flew in the air like ribbons and the ground shook when he hit it. He winced at the sudden pain, his eye closing and his teeth bared and gritted. Felix scrambled, climbing back on top of his king and pinning his arms underneath his legs. He moved quickly, making the rash decision to drop the leash in favor of both hands. 

He pinned the muzzle over Dimitri’s face, holding him to the dirt. 

Dimtiri’s eye opened wide and angry, blue fire aimed up at Felix. The enraged animal beneath Felix would have been enough to strike terror in a lesser man. Not Felix. He began working the belt behind Dimitri’s head. 

Dimitri kicked. He bucked. His arms tried to move out from underneath Felix’s legs. He snarled, his teeth snapping up at Felix. 

All show. 

Felix managed to get one strap fixed in place before Dimitri began to tantrum. His head whipped back and forth, his arms went from wiggling to using pure strength to lift Felix up. Felix knew when to abandon a situation. He rolled off. Once again, Felix stood primed, hands up, ready for the beast. 

Dimitri slowly clambored to his feet, dangerous and blood thirsty. The loose strap of the muzzle clanked around his chin, dancing loose on his face. 

His cock hungry for Felix. 

Dimitri’s gaze darted to the discarded collar and leash. They moved at the same time. 

Dimitri went for the leash and Felix tackled his king. They went down hard again, dirt kicking up in plumes. They grappled with one another, trying to push each other off, both going for the leash. Felix reached over Dimitri’s expanse, trying to beat the length of his arms as they both groped for the instrument. 

His mistake. 

Dimitri gave up on going for the leash and went for Felix instead. Too slow to catch up, Felix won the forfeited competition, but ended up face first on the ground. The beast held him in place, wrenching his free arm behind his back and pushing his face into the dirt. A great weight straddled his hips, pinning him to the earth. 

Felix swore he heard Dimitri laugh. Manic and deranged. 

Dimitri’s strong hand left his head, running down Felix’s body in painful jumps, holding him in place, until Dimitri could wriggle his body to sit down on Felix’s thighs.

A rough hand harshly molded the flesh of his ass. 

Felix gasped, gulping in air and dirt, and tried to scramble out from underneath Dimitri, but he lacked the boar’s raw strength. He was at the disadvantage, pinned down and helpless. The second he felt that cock rut against his ass, he knew he would lose. 

_Felix did not want to lose._

His knees ground against the earth. He slapped at Dimitri’s side, whipping him with the leash. 

The cock didn’t stop. Rough fingers pried him open and exposed. Pre cum smeared against his skin, rubbing against his hole. Dimitri’s feral laughter was _giddy_.

_Felix would not lose!_

Using Dimitri’s distraction, Felix twisted his arm and released it from its pin. He pushed up against the ground, getting his chest up off the dirt, and gaining the leverage to buck Dimitri off _just_ enough. Just enough to drag himself out from under the boar’s weight and get away from that hungry dick. Once again on his feet and facing down his enemy. 

In that moment, Felix realized just how much he wanted that win. It wasn’t the normal competition. He needed that victory. 

And some small part of him thought Dimitri wanted to lose. Why else would he release Felix so easily? 

Felix smiled, his grin matching Dimitri’s own carnal desires, and saw it reflected back on his king’s face. 

_Felix would win._

They went at each other again. This time, Felix moved to end it. He made quick work, going in for Dimitri’s neck. He clamped a strong hand around it, pressing his head against his king’s. Dimitri went for the same, pushing on Felix’s arms, pushing him back in the dirt. It became a competition of strength but Felix just needed to be close enough. 

Giving up his ground, Felix grabbed the lower belt of the muzzle and yanked. Dimitri’s head whiplashed backwards. Felix took the moment of weakness to secure the muzzle as quickly as possible. 

That was one component down. 

He grabbed the muzzle by the metal grate and pulled his king down. Dimitri’s head jerked forward and he stumbled to his knees. Momentum fueled Felix. With as much force, he jerked the collar around Dimitri’s exposed neck, pulling hard enough to gag the boar. A strong knee to the center of Dimitri’s back to push him to all fours, the clamp of the leather buckling into place, and Dimitri was done. 

Felix had won. 

“Yield,” Felix snarled, tugging on Dimitri’s collar once. 

For a tense solid moment, Dimitri didn’t move. Felix waited, worried that he might continue the fight, that he might resist. That the boar was so deep in his blood lust that he would forget that he’d lost. 

Instead he shook his head, laughing in that charming way he did when he wore his false mask. Relieved and loosened from the loss. 

“I yield,” he rasped around the gag in his throat. 

Felix tugged it once more, just to show the man his place. 

“Good,” he snarled.

The leash clipped into the ring with a smart bite of metal on metal. Dimitri waited patiently, subserviently. His head hung low, but Felix could see the hint of a smile. He tugged on the leash. 

“Come, boar,” he ordered. 

He yanked on the leash and Dimitri jerked along with it. The beast was prone to stubbornness, not doing as he was told, always ready for a fight, but on that particular evening he was obedient. He crawled behind Felix on all fours, head down, trusting the victor to guide him. It was shameful, but humiliation wasn't the point. 

Felix spared Dimitri a glance, once again appraising his scared back, the shape of his ass, the cock between his legs. A possessive warmth shot through his veins. 

The ring in the ground jut out, gleaming and menacing. Felix looped the leash into it, pulling harshly so as to drag Dimitri down. His arms buckled and he groaned as he was dragged to bowing before his master. Felix tugged the knot a little too hard, just to drive home a point. 

Had Dimitri won the match, Felix would have been dragged over to their little corner. He would have been pinned down or bent over or pushed against a wall. Viciously taken. On certain days, Felix wanted that. He would try to win the fight all the same, but letting the boar have his way had its appeal. 

Owning the beast was far more tantalizing on that day. 

Felix picked up the bottle of oil that waited for them on the little half wall. He gave no regard to his little _pet_ and poured the lubricant over his fingers. Dimitri huffed heavily through his nose, breathing like the animal he was. He went down to one knee behind the boar and finally gave him some modicum of attention. 

Felix’s victories were more subdued, utilitarian, workmanlike. As if this version of coupling was less about possession and passion and more a means to the end. 

How far that was from the truth. 

Felix spread his king open, reaving an expectant hole. Dimitri’s breathing picked up, the whining keen of impatience. 

“Hush,” Felix said, smearing his fingers over the hole. 

It twitched under his touch. Dimitri did not hush, whining like the animal he was. Begging for it. He was needy. 

With all the warmth of a sword, Felix slid his finger into that tight heat. 

The leash rattled as Dimitri jerked his head, unable to pull it much farther from where he had been affixed. Felix worked him over, sliding his finger in and out slowly. As speed picked up, as Felix slid from the second knuckle all the way to the third, Dimitri’s little keens and whines shifted into soft snarls. 

Needy, spoiled boar.

Felix shifted to two fingers. Sliding them in was no issue but at the first spread Dimitri reacted. His head shook, just to rattle the metal, as if to shake the muzzle off. Felix pat his back side. 

“Shh,” he placated. “Settle down.” 

And spread his fingers wide. 

Dimitri didn’t speak. Animals didn’t speak. They huffed and grunted and apparently fucked back on fingers that pushed and prodded and explored. Despite himself, Felix smiled. Proud of his boar. 

A third finger went in with little resistance. 

Dimitri’s fingers curled in the dirt. The balls of his feet dragged along the ground. He wouldn’t hold still. A pleading whine emitted from gritted teeth and he tried to look over his shoulder but the leash wouldn’t allow even that. Felix slapped a hand to his hip to hold his boar still and made a point to shove his fingers all the way in. Slowly, painfully slow, he spread them like a blossoming flower. 

“Please,” Dimitri whined. 

Felix stared down the broad back. Dimitri should know better, but he couldn’t blame the man. 

Felix’s patience wasn’t much better. 

He whipped his hand back with a flourish and shook it out. Dimitri sobbed at the loss, his head drooping between his shoulders. 

“Tch,” Felix scoffed. 

He pushed down on Dimitri’s hips, spreading the man wider, making those long legs stretch out for him. Bringing the big boar down to his height. Felix was the one who got to be comfortable that night. He slicked up his cock and lined it up with the well prepared hole. Ignoring whatever little noises came from the man beneath him, Felix pushed his dick inside. 

The heat was tight. Dimitri hugged around his dick in all the right ways. Felix threw back his head, closed his eyes, and focused on the pure squeeze. His heart still pounded fierce in his ears. He was still catching his breath from the fight. Felix could pretend to be as composed as a perfect knight, but in reality he was no better than the creature under his fists. 

Dimitri fought back against the restraints. His stubbornness began to shine. Strong thighs bucked back, needing more from Felix, faster. Felix smacked another hand down onto Dimitri’s ass, pulling out another mournful wail. 

“Patience,” Felix snarled. 

Dimitri was all ferocity and power. When he won, the coupling would have been well under way, nothing but grunts and screams. He was hungry for it, the need for Felix to give Dimitri the same seeped from his every pore. 

Felix would give it to him. 

Holding onto thick thighs like grips, Felix pulled Dimitri back to meet his thrust. Dimitri moaned, honey filled pleasure of a man and not the neediness of his boar. Felix snarled and thrust a little harder. Then again. Until finally he got the animalistic grunt he wanted from his king. 

Then he got to work. 

The coupling would be quick. Fucking after such activity always was. The act of grappling was already half way to mating as it were. Holding one another down, fighting for dominance, it was more making love than an actual dick in a warm hole. With not much time left, Felix went for what he wanted. 

Felix propped up one foot for better leverage, grinding his hips against Dimitri’s ass, digging his dick into places only he would know. He reached forward and grabbed the binds of Dimitri’s muzzle, pulling his head up and back. Dimitri choked on air, a happy noise just as giddy as he had been before. Face turned into the light, Felix could see the pleased way his eye rolled back, could see the grated dance of shadow across his face. 

All of it far too beautiful. 

Felix dropped the hold. He stopped fucking, just long enough to climb up to both of his feet. He pulled Dimitri’s hips higher and squat down to meet the man. With a snarl, he grabbed Dimitri’s wrists, wrenched his arms back, and pulled them like reins. 

Restraints disregarded, Dimitri threw his head back and cried out into the ring. The leash jangled, hitting the metal ring.

Their reverie descended into a brief monotony. The stink of sweat. The pounding in his ears. The slap of flesh on flesh. Dimitri’s panting, the rattle of metal. All of it making up a symphony as Felix chased down his need. 

When he finally reached the cusp, Felix dropped Dimitri’s arms, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around his boar. He ground his hips, once, twice, then again. His face pressed against that scared back, mouth open and pulling in wet praise filled kisses. 

He spilled into Dimitri. 

For all its build up, Felix’s orgasm was anticlimactic. No fireworks, no grand explosion, just a simple biological need. As the whole act had been. 

He held tight to Dimitri, his fingers digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut, arms tense around a thick body, still dragging sloppy kisses down his spine. He couldn’t let go, not when he was finished, not when he softened in Dimitri’s ass. He wanted to hold onto that moment for long as possible. Until finally, with a great sigh, he had to return to reality. 

Felix slipped out and sat back. Dimitri, no longer able to hold himself up under his own power, slid against the dirt. His legs shook and splayed, falling in slow motion. Cum dribbled from a still twitching ass. 

Not so much out of sympathy but following the motions of a long remembered dance, Felix placed a gentle hand under Dimitri’s hip to keep him up. He reached between his legs, wrapping his hand around the disregarded cock. There were no little whines or pleas, not even a quiet gasp, as Felix jerked his king with quick business like efficiency. It wasn’t long until Dimitri came, spurting quietly onto the ground. 

Felix let go and Dimitri collapsed into his own mess. 

Exhaustion built over Felix in waves. His heart still raced, heavily beating in his chest, still not in sync with his still body. He didn’t so much crawl as slunk to Dimitri’s side, his back hitting heavily against the pillar. His hand weighed down as he lazily clicked the leash off his king. 

Dimitri lay heavy in the dirt and Felix wondered if he had simply collapsed into sleep. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But slowly, Dimitri turned his head, dragging his muzzle across the ground, until a single blue eye looked up at Felix. As deep as ocean depths and clear as the sky. 

He dragged himself the few inches to Felix, not so much lazy as struggling to crawl his arm across Felix’s midsection in a weak hug. He rested his head on Felix’s lap and Felix rested a hand a top his crown. 

“Thank you,” Dimitri said, deep from a dream. 

Felix sighed, the exertion finally coming off him. There were words on his breath, none that he would ever say out loud. 

The boar already knew them well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I'm soft.
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	17. Claude/Lorenz - boot worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kiss it,” Claude said. 
> 
> Lorenz looked up to Claude, his eyes big and questioning. He scoffed when he saw no jest in Claude’s expression. 
> 
> “Surely you don’t mean that,” he said. 
> 
> Claude only frowned, schooling his face into stoney solemnity. 
> 
> “Kiss,” he said. “My boot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  BOOT WORSHIP  
> STEPPING**
> 
> Damn. We're more than half way done huh. This month is really just flying by. But I gotta say, I'm pretty happy for it. I'm proud of the work I did and all I've written. 
> 
> Sorry to get a little shmaltzy there. 
> 
> Have some boot licking :)

The war room vacated with its usual speed. Lords and house heads meandered their way to the door, filtering out less in a queue and more of an unruly mass. The round table had been productive and amicable. The lords left in high spirits, idle conversation passing among them about what was for lunch or how good the meet had been. 

Except for one. 

Claude pretended not to notice. He busied himself with the maps in front of him, carefully rolling them up and humming to himself as he did. He removed his gloves one finger at a time and did not spare the man glaring hime down a second glance. 

The door closed with a quiet _boom_ and they were left alone in the war room. Claude hummed and let his glove hit the table with a quiet smack. He _still_ didn’t pay the remaining lord any attention, his gaze squarely fixed on the table in front of him, and leaned off to the side to busy himself with the bow he had placed on the floor. It was more for decoration than anything, to show he was still a threat to be taken seriously, even in that setting. 

All he did was pet the thing, stroke his fingers over the metal, but it was enough to drop him out of view and look like he was busy. 

The lord huffed loud enough to be heard halfway across the room. The chair grounded harshly against the stone floor, its angry song ringing off the ceiling. Claude smiled down at his bow, listening to the clack of heels grow louder and finally stop. 

He twanged the bowstring. 

The lord cleared his throat. 

Claude bowed his head and licked his lips, trying very hard to keep the shit eating grin as minimal as possible. He knew he failed when he saw the look on Lorenz’s face. 

“Lorenz,” Claude said, as if greeting a friend he hadn’t seen in years. “How are you doing?” 

Lorenz stood with his arms crossed, trying to look less annoyed in the same manner that Claude was trying not to look annoying. In that they were both failing. 

“You agreed to move resources from House Ordelia to the border,” he said simply. 

“Yes,” Claude said. “I am.” 

Lorenz scowled deeper. When it was clear he wasn’t going to get an answer, Claude continued. 

“What of it?” he asked. 

“House Ordelia does not _have_ such resources to spare,” Lorenz continued. “And I know the other lords agreed that the move proposed was a good one, House Ordelia isn’t here to represent itself. As a leader, you should know that by moving men from there to the border will leave them open.” 

Claude sat up a little straighter and considered that. The proposal had been suggested and agreed upon so quickly that he barely remembered the agreement. He’d have to look to verify if what Lorenz had said was correct. But for now. . . 

He leaned against his fist and smiled. 

“Why didn’t you bring this up in the meet?” he asked. 

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Lorenz said, huffing and looking away. A front. 

Claude grinned wider. 

“Embarrass me?” he laughed. “I don’t think you could if you tried.” 

Lorenz glared down at him. Claude tilted his head playfully in the other direction. 

“I think I may know why,” he said. 

“Oh? And whats that?” Lorenz said cooly. 

“I think its because you trust me,” Claude said. “You’re willing to give me the benefit of the doubt and follow my every command.”

Lorenz bristled. Claude loved it when his mouth pulled into a thin line, his arms tightened, his shoulders hiked up. And he especially loved the shade of red Lorenz turned, clashing with his hair. If he only knew. 

“That may be so,” Lorenz said. “But I am well within my limits to let you know when you’re being–”

“So you do trust me?” Claude asked. 

Lorenz continued that fetching glare. Claude wished he could bottle it up and keep it for a rainy day. 

“Of course,” Lorenz said simply. 

“Enough to kneel?” 

Lorenz’s eyes widened. He looked around the empty war room, taking in the closed door and vacated chairs. His head turned slowly back to glare at Claude, as if to say _’really? here?!’_

Claude leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and pointed to the ground. 

“Kneel,” he commanded. 

The indignant expression didn’t leave Lorenz’s face. He breathed in long and deep before slowly dropping down to one knee. 

Claude leaned in further and pointed at the ground again. 

“Lower,” he said. 

Lorenz glared, his lip jutting out in a pout, but he slowly brought his other knee to the ground, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. 

Claude leaned in further still, tilting his head and letting his voice drop to dangerous levels. 

“Lower,” he said. 

Lorenz’s mouth opened slightly, his brows knitting in question, but he _trusted_ Claude. And that, more than anything, was the sexiest thing he could do. 

Lorenz slowly leaned forward, resting his palms to the ground, bowing on all fours before his leader. 

Claude put the heel of his boot to the back of Lorenz’s head and pushed. 

“Lower,” he said slowly. 

With a small choke, Lorenz followed the direction. He was nudged to the ground, his body lowering to the stone. His hands slid out in front of him, his ass still high in the air. Claude kept pushing until Lorenz’s nose was just shy of kissing stone. He left his foot on the back of his lord’s head, just resting it there, enjoying the view. Enough to see Lorenz’s arms quiver, to hear a restrained whimper. 

Claude removed his foot and slid it between Lorenz’s arms, just into his view. He could see Lorenz go cross eyed. 

“Kiss it,” Claude said. 

Lorenz looked up to Claude, his eyes big and questioning. He scoffed when he saw no jest in Claude’s expression. 

“Surely you don’t mean that,” he said. 

Claude only frowned, schooling his face into stoney solemnity. 

“Kiss,” he said. “My boot.” 

Lorenz’s lower lip quivered, more out of shock than anything. Glacially slow, he tilted his head back down and soon Claude’s boot was his entire focus. He leaned in and rested his lips gently to the leather. 

Claude scoffed. 

“Is that honestly how you’d want me to kiss you?” he asked. 

Lorenz met Claude’s cruel eyes. The illusion that his eyes were larger from the way he had to look up. Sighing shakily, he bowed his head again. 

The next kiss was slower, his mouth opening slightly so as to wet the leather and drag his lips across it. His teeth barely grazed the boot, digging into the leather just enough. On the second pass, his tongue pressed against the toe cap. By the third, he was trailing it up to the laces. 

“Thats better,” Claude purred. 

Encouragement spurred Lorenz on and he kept going. He showed just how he wanted to be kissed by Claude, the treatment to his boot only growing messier. His tongue trailed along the seams where the leather was bound together. It traced the criss cross of laces. Back down to the feel of hardened leather at the toe. 

Claude tapped his foot. It bounced out of Lorenz’s range and up against the underside of his chin. 

“Put it in,” he commanded. 

Lorenz pushed up, almost going upright on all fours. 

“But–” he started to complain.

Claude tapped his chin with the toe of his boot. 

“In,” he said slowly. “Your. Mouth.” 

Lorenz gave him a long shaking look, brows pinched together and his lower lip quivering. Claude merely tapped his chin again. 

It was a test of patience. An entertainment to watch Lorenz choose to trust Claude. 

Lorenz lolled his tongue out and went for the sole. A simple small lick, just a taste. He grimaced at it. 

Claude cleared his throat. 

One more glance up at the man he placed his trust in and Lorenz dove in with a bit more gusto. 

His tongue met the underside of the toe, trailing across the ridges meant to keep Claude firmly planted on the ground. There must have been granules of dirt stuck between the molding. If it bothered Lorenz, it was only a fleeting glance. Eyes closed and sighing with something akin to contentment, he fell into the worship. 

“Good,” Claude said. “Just like that.” 

Lorenz whimpered. A telltale sign of what this humiliation was doing to him. 

Claude pushed the toe of his boot into Lorenz’s mouth. Eyes snapped open wide again, but Lorenz made no move to pull away. Only sat still as Claude slowly coaxed it in, slowly spread his lips wider. 

“There you go,” he said. “Pretty man.” 

Lorenz groaned, his eyelids fluttering, and from that alone Claude knew how tight the lord’s pants were. The shake of Claude’s sigh would tell Lorenz the effect it had on _him_.

The boot slipped free of Lorenz’s mouth, a strand of drool trailing from Lorenz’s bottom lip. He looked up at Claude, eyes filled with haze and lust. 

The toe of Claude’s boot clicked as it hit the floor again.

“Now go ahead,” he said, waving a hand down at his feet. “Clean it nice and good for me.” 

Lorenz’s brows rose, a sarcastic amusement crossed his expression. 

“I am not your maid,” he said, leaning down all the same. 

“No,” Claude said. “You’re my shoe shiner.” 

Lorenz kept that dead eyed glare up at Claude, even as he stuck his tongue out. The first drag up Claude’s boot was a slow one, Lorenz not looking away, not blinking. Claude licked his lip. He couldn’t help it. The man was just asking for it. Lorenz finally closed his eyes and got to work. 

Wet trailed over Claude’s boot, leaving behind a sticky sheen. The lord lapped at the leather, running his tongue over it like a dog. He tucked his hair behind his ear and that act alone was so fetching it made Claude’s heart twist and his dick press against his pants. 

Lorenz reverently held onto Claude’s boot, like it was a holy object, and slowly ran his tongue from base to lip. He stroked it again and again, moving from the inside to the out, twisting his head around it to get at the back. 

Until Claude had enough. 

He pulled his foot out of Lorenz’s hands, planted it on the lord’s shoulder, and pushed him back. Lorenz fell back onto his ass with a huff, his hands slapping on the ground and his legs splayed open wide. The bulge in his pants on full display. 

Claude stood and pressed his boot to that bulge. 

Lorenz balked, a squawking noise undignified of the lord of House Gloucester. His eyes went wide and wet, but he didn’t dare close his legs. 

“Look at what a good job you did,” Claude said, hands on his hips and boot digging against Lorenz’s erection. “Shining so bright I can see my reflection in it.” 

Lorenz squeezed his eyes shut, his head bowed half in shame, mostly in arousal. His hands curled into fists, fingernails dragging against the stone floor. The way his legs shook made Claude practically giddy. 

“You’re such a good shoe shiner, Lorenz,” he said, driving his foot in deeper. 

“Ah!” Lorenz wailed. If anything, his legs spread wider. 

“I think you should be given an official _title_.” 

At the stressed word, Claude pressed down, as if he were going to put his whole weight on top of Lorenz’s dick. 

Lorenz’s head flew up, his eyes wide in desperation. 

“Claude please,” he wailed. 

“Please what?” Claude asked. 

He rubbed his foot, grinding his boot against Lorenz’s pants, like stepping on a bug. 

“Puh-lee-heease,” Lorenz cried, his head thrown back. 

“Come on, Lorenz,” Claude taunted. “You’re going to have to be _specific_.” 

Claude threw his weight into it. Really drove his boot down on the strain in Lorenz’s pants. Just to make the main scream. 

Lorenz’s head rocked heavy, rotating in a painful circle, and flopping to the side. He panted, his hair cascading over his face, gorgeous wanting eyes fixed solely on Claude. Tastier still, his hips _pushed back_.

“End this charade,” Lorenz panted. “And get me off already.” 

“Hmph,” Claude said, but removed his foot all the same. If the little whimper was any indication, Lorenz wanted that foot to stay firmly in place. “Giving orders now are we?” 

Lorenz didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. Only sat before Claude, legs splayed and chest pumping as he tried to catch his breath. Too gorgeous for words. 

Claude plopped back in his seat. 

“Well then,” he said when Lorenz didn’t move. “Stand up.” 

Ever eager to please, Lorenz was on his feet. Claude slid his hands over slim hips and pulled the lord closer, pulled him between his knees. Without a word, Claude began picking at the buckles of Lorenz’s boots. 

Lorenz held stock still, like a doll, letting Claude do as he pleased. He only moved when Claude pulled down his boot and lifted his leg to peel it off. Then the other. Then came the pants. Lorenz quickly glanced over his shoulder to the big door, but no one was in the room. Even if there were passersby at the door, they certainly would know what Lorenz’s appetites were like after his little show and screams. 

Claude neatly pushed Lorenz’s coat to the floor, pulled the shirt over his head, fluffing out perfectly groomed hair into haphazard strands over his face. 

Until Claude’s shoe shiner was nude before him. 

Claude sat back in his chair and leaned his cheek against one fist. His eyes moved up and down the pale shivering body before him, taking in details and crevices. The curve of a hip, the expanse of his chest, the cock hard and waiting. 

Claude pat his lap. 

“Climb up,” he said. 

Lorenz moved forward, ready to straddle Claude, when he stopped him. 

“Not like that,” he laughed. 

Lorenz’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head. Claude twirled one finger in the air, pointing down. 

“Turn around,” he said, dropping the command like a brick. 

Maintaining the inquisitive stare, Lorenz took a few careful turns in his spot until his back was to Claude. Two small pats broke the silence. 

“Climb. Up,” Claude commanded again. 

Lorenz swallowed. Looking over his shoulder, he backed up carefully, lifting one leg and squeezing it on one side of Claude, then the other to the other side, reaching back behind him to hold the chair for support. Until he was kneeled on the chair, his ass presented for Claude to admire. And admire he did, running a hand over the flesh, giving it a squeeze, delighting in that soft gasp. 

Claude continued his trek up Lorenz’s back and pushed ever so slightly. Lorenz got the hint and climbed his hands down. Down to Claude’s knees, down his legs. Claude kept pushing and pushing until Lorenz was once again braced on the floor. This time with his ass up in the air and presented to his lord. 

Claude slid his other boot into view.

“Now the other one,” he said. 

Lorenz shifted, trying to find the best position to hold himself up. His hips wriggled before Claude, putting on quite the show. Shoulder blades shifted and arms quivered as he slowly lowered himself tongue first to meet the unclean boot. 

It was less of a show to watch the back of Lorenz’s head move, but he could feel the pressure moving up and down his boot, could hear the soft little _smacks_ as he lapped at the leather. 

Besides, Claude had other ways to entertain himself. 

He kneaded the ass in front of him, feeling and prodding. He took two solid handfuls of the skinny ass and squeezed as hard as he could. Until Lorenz moaned. 

“Don’t stop,” Claude sang, pulsating his fingers. 

Lorenz whined, but listened. His head lowered, bobbing back and forth, moving over the laced up center. He lowered himself still, all long limbs and slim waist, until the tip of his tongue could just reach Claude’s toe. Claude tilted it out of reach and Lorenz complained, a gagged huff around his outstretched tongue. 

Claude admired him, smiling down with pride, and glad Lorenz couldn’t see it. 

He continued to massage Lorenz's ass, moving it and rolling it under his hands. He spread it wide, exposing a cute little hole to the open air of the war room. Claude did Lorenz a favor and ignored another pathetic whimper. 

Claude spit, long and slow, his saliva landing in a sticky globule that was perfectly aimed on Lorenz’s hole. He ran his thumb over it, smearing the slick and doing what he could to lube Lorenz up. Then carefully, he pushed his thumb past the tense muscle. 

Lorenz dropped his head, hair falling in a cascade to reveal the bumps of his spine at the base of his neck. Claude said nothing, only rotated his thumb, only tapped his toe. Reminders of Lorenz’s oh so important work. It was far more shaky, but Lorenz’s tongue went back to lapping. 

Claude idly played with the ass before him, kneading his thumb in and out of the hole, watching it dance with his movements. He turned his hand, his fingers dancing over Lorenz’s ass. Tilted his head in mild fascination. His eyes flicked back up to the man at his feet. 

Lorenz was having trouble keeping himself together. He could barely hold himself up right any more. His arms shook, his elbows buckling. Every pass of his tongue was much slower, distracted by Claude’s ministrations. 

Claude took pity on him. 

“Get you off, you said, hm?” Claude asked. 

Lorenz sobbed and his head dropped, nearly hitting the floor. 

“Yes!” he wailed. “Please!”

Claude nudged his boot against Lorenz’s cheek. 

“Did you do a good job?” he asked. 

“Yes! Yes I did!” 

The desperation tasted so sweet. 

Claude removed his hand from Lorenz’s ass and reached down far enough to grab a handful of soft hair. He yanked Lorenz’s head up so he could properly look at the sopping boot. 

“Did you?” he asked, shaking Lorenz’s head a little. 

Between the strain in his arms, the humiliation from being manhandled, the aching cock between his legs, Lorenz could only fumble around his words. Taking pity, Claude lifted him just enough to get a hold around his chest and pull the lord against him. 

“I think you did excellently,” he whispered in Lorenz’s ear. 

Lorenz gasped delightfully as Claude wrapped his hand around Lorenz’s cock. He immediately fell into the proper pace, working his lover over with expert ease. He reached up and slipped a finger into Lorenz’s mouth. 

“This too,” he said. 

Lorenz closed his eyes, worshipping Claude’s finger as he had his boots. He wrapped his tongue around it, slobbering over it, getting it wet and sloppy. Without any warning, Claude pulled it out, leaving behind a trail of drool, and brought to Lorenz’s ass. It slipped inside, easy as can be, and he began fingering Lorenz at the same pace he jerked his cock. He pounded his finger in and out of that tight little ass, smacking his knuckles against Lorenz's skin. 

Lorenz’s little gasps picked up in pitch. He turned to look over his shoulder, wrapping a hand around the back of Claude’s head. Their mouths met, just a little too far away to properly lock together, open and panting. 

Claude’s senses filled with the moments before Lorenz’s orgasm. The way his body tensed up, the way his ass squeezed around Claude’s finger, the desperate gasps tasted on his tongue. Claude smiled, riding the crest of the wave as much as Lorenz was. 

Lorenz cried out into the war room and spasmed, sticky white seed jumping in the air and over Claude’s fingers. He fell back against Claude’s chest, his legs shaking and jolting as he came. Claude wrapped an arm around Lorenz, cooing and whispering words that meant nothing into his ear. 

Pulling at him until Lorenz had nothing more to give. 

When it was over, Claude pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re right,” he said softly. 

“What?” Lorenz asked. His eyes were hazed over, staring up at nothing. 

“House Ordelia may not have resources to spare,” Claude said, kissing his jaw. 

Lorenz’s brow furrowed and he glared up at the same nothing. 

“I’ll find them elsewhere.” A kiss to his neck. 

Lorenz turned to aim that glare at his lord. Claude only smiled. 

“I do wish you would stay on task,” Lorenz huffed. 

Claude laughed and wrapped his arms around the shoe shiner in his lap, nuzzling his neck, simply happy to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh subby Lorenz is such a flavor. Pretty boy. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	18. Hegemon!Edelgard/Hubert - suspension, tentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will take you,” she entoned. “If you will have me.”
> 
> “Of course my lady,” Hubert said. The smile he wore filled with nothing but love. 
> 
> For a face that could not move, the expression of pure hunger glinted off her eyes. 
> 
> “Good,” she said and Hubert could feel it reverberate through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  TENTACLES  
> MONSTER FUCKING  
> DISTENSION**
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:  
>  BLOOD**
> 
> So the original prompt for this one was suspension but hhhhnhggdfhjggghnn. I just HNNNNNGGGG it became GREMLIN NOISES I mean monster fucking hedelbert with tentacles is my hhhuuurrrrrgggggg
> 
> me like this

“My lady.” 

Hubert stood in the shadow of the great winged beast that gracefully floated before him. Her darkened eyes focused on him, securing him in place with glowing red pinpoints deep within her skull. She loomed over him, her loosened hair draping around her face. 

Hubert went to one knee reverently, his eyes never wavering, never blinking from the goddess before him. He had loved her, had always loved her, and in her most supreme of moments, his body swelled with overwhelming love for her. 

“How may I serve you?” he asked, both of them knowing that he would do anything, _anything_ , for her. 

Long arms reached out and too large hands did more than just frame Hubert’s face. They practically encapsulated his head. With one slight squeeze, she could pop it like a grape. But her hold was gentle, kindly. Taking care to dip her pinkies under his jaw, tilting his head up to fully see her. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked. 

Apprehension was not a good look on him, but he couldn’t help it. Being in the presence of such a creature. 

Edelgard, at her most glorious. 

She leaned down, her face fully filling his vision. She was so much larger than the tiny powerful woman he’d known his whole life. Proportionally greater than any human could ever hope to be. Hubert filled his lungs with the scent of her, tasting of bitter winter cold and ozone. 

“Your majesty,” he whispered. “Your grace.” 

When had he started shaking? He couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anticipation or the halo of cold the goddess carried with her. It could have been from sheer awe. 

“My dearest Hubert,” the creature entoned. The sound of hellish bells, distorted and deep with the hint of the woman she was underneath. “You have already done so much for me.” 

Her body floated behind her, legs gently sifting as if she were drifting through open water. The bones of wings wrapped around them, casting Hubert in slatted shadow. The glow of her red nodes and deep set eyes reflected on his face, illuminating him in her glory. The grip around his head tightened, but Hubert did not fear for his life. Her face drew nearer still and he sucked in a tight breath. 

“What may _I_ do for _you_?” she asked, deafening. 

The mere nature of the question was preposterous. What would he ever need from elegance such as that? All that she had to give, simply by existing. 

“Simply being by your side is more than enough, my lady,” he said. 

Her hands tightened, just a little more. Dancing black lights pricked at the corners of his eyes. Her head tilted in curiosity or the way a lover would. 

A lover. 

“Surely there must be something more,” she said. So very odd that she spoke without moving her lips. A frozen mask that only resembled the woman Hubert once knew. 

Hubert couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t ask anything of her. It was too much to ask that of her. 

But they both knew. 

Frozen lips placed gently against his own and Hubert no longer had it in him to remain composed. He melted against her touch and let his head fall heavy into her hands. The way his lips moved, how he had to pull in air for a breath, only highlighted how the perfection before him who had no need of such trifles. 

Her hands coiled, curling around his head. They encapsulated him, wrapping around him like a cocoon, shading out the rest of the world and its offenses. Now she was the one protecting him. 

Her touch ran down his neck, over his shoulders. Hands that had defied a god. Hands that had killed. Glorious hands. 

They moved down and down, trailing across his arms, as if appraising him. Hubert prayed, to her, to anyone that would listen, that she approved. 

She gently took his hands and raised them, guided them, and finally rested them along her chest. Hubert gasped, looking down at this privilege he had been granted. He looked up to meet his Emperor, his Goddess, and slowly ran his own touch over her body. His fingers bounced over the corded exoskeleton, trailing over the hardened bone of her sternum, up the outline of musculature in her neck. The body of power, of supremreme glory. 

Hubert felt unworthy. 

With her silent permission his hands continued his exploration. He ran his hands over her shoulders in silent worship. Up over the pauldrons, to where glowing beacons were inlaid. In a drastic difference to the rest of her body, they were warm to the touch, almost scalding, and Hubert wanted to leave his hands there, to burn himself on her. To brand himself by her. Instead he continued, finding her wings. Bone structures that should have been impossible to keep her up and yet she remained hovered over the ground. 

Feeling bold, Hubert leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to her collar bone. His eyes fluttered closed, feeling the cold hard carapace under his lips. 

Praise for Edelgard and only Edelgard. 

Monstrously strong hands gripped Hubert, wrapped around his waist, and lifted him off the ground. Panic shot through his veins, but he knew better than to fight it. He knew to trust his Emperor. 

She rose to her full height and held him to meet her eyes. Long sharp fingers picked at his clothes, tearing into them. 

“I will take you,” she entoned. “If you will have me.”

“Of course my lady,” Hubert said. The smile he wore filled with nothing but love. 

For a face that could not move, the expression of pure hunger glinted off her eyes. 

“Good,” she said and Hubert could feel it reverberate through him.

Cloth tore under her touch, her fingers digging underneath and ripping out. His shirt quickly devolved into shambles, his skin revealed to the open air. Her thumbs ran over protruding ribs. The slightest squeeze, the slightest push, would break his spine. Hubert did nothing but hold on. 

She held him like a doll and continued to molest his body. Her body, hers to own and tear and rip asunder. Long fingers hooked into the hem of his pants and with one long solid rip, they tore from his body. He gasped only from the shock of it and tried to quell any lingering, foolish fear. 

Edelgard’s hands wrapped around Hubert, holding him up like a doll. His chest heaved, pumping under her thumbs. His limbs dangled limp over her fingers. 

His eyes went nowhere else. 

“My lady,” he whispered again as her fingers moved. “. . . Edelgard.” 

A growl that sounded like gears grinding reverberated from deep within Edelgard’s chest, hollow and tinny. It vibrated through her palms, rattling Hubert’s ribcage, putting his teeth on edge. 

Her touch traveled over his body, cold and unfeeling. A scale of hard shell that traced his thin frame. She rested him in one hand and ran the other between his legs. Her thumb pressed into an already aching cock, fingers running over his back side, a nail scratching down the small of his back and between his ass. He shuddered in her grip, his head flopping back, gravity doing what it will with him. 

Another large thumb ran up his body, pressing into his throat. Hubert choked. Breathing instantly became a problem, but he did nothing to fight her. Only opened his eyes to view an upside down world, hazy as the air failed to reach his brain. 

The tips of trees passed his vision as they ascended into the air. 

Up and up Edelgard’s thumb went. Hubert gasped in air and her thumb found his open mouth. Too large to quite make it inside, she smeared her touch across his lips. Obeying a silent command, Hubert let his tongue fall out and she pressed against his wet. Her other thumb running circles over his cock, pushing it against his abdomen. 

The cool air of the upper echelons of Garreg Mach brushed over his nude skin, through the rags of his former clothes, through the strands of fallen hair. 

Hubert lifted his head as the great nail tried to pass his lips, another prodding his ass. Before him was the majesty of his goddess, wings spread to keep them aloft, framed against the backdrop of a blue sky. Her face betrayed nothing and Hubert yearned to know if what she saw pleased her. The only thing that looked back was a blank curiosity as she molested his body. 

This body that belonged to Edelgard. 

The sound of cracking came beneath him. Bark spreading open and apart. Her touch left his body and Hubert instantly missed it, wanting it back, feeling cold kiss across his skin. 

Dry tendrils wrapped around him. They looped around his legs, around his ankles and thighs. They wrapped around his arms, holding them up and apart. Around his chest, around his throat, until he no longer needed Edelgard’s hands to keep him in the air. 

“My lady?” he asked. “Do I please you?” 

The tendril around his throat circled around his neck, over his chin, and pushed into his mouth. His lips spread wide, but his eyes never left her. 

“Hush,” she said and it echoed behind her mask. 

The gag down his throat wasn’t simply that and it began to move, pumping in and out, fucking his face. Hubert’s eyes rolled back in his head, feeling the weight of it on his tongue, the ridges where her plates met together, tasting the flavor of hardened flesh. The way the dead tasted. 

Hubert’s legs were spread wider and he was lifted, put on display for Edelgard’s amusement. The tendrils at his arms and shoulders pulled him down, the ones at his legs pushed him up, bending Hubert’s back. Another tendril slid between his legs, between the split in his ass, up the center, and over his cock. It shifted, rubbing back and forth, all the way down to his hole, then up over his balls, to the tip of his cock, and back again. 

The sheer stimulation of it was more than enough and Hubert groaned around the mass that was slowly pushing its way down his throat. 

Hubert didn’t notice when Edelgard had placed her hands on him again. She touched him as he had her, sweetly and with devotion. Her fingers raked over his nipples, making sure to pull on them. Hubert’s fingers strained and his toes curled, pulling against his restraints. 

“To answer your question,” Edelgard’s voice echoed sweetly from behind her mask. “Yes. You please me Hubert.” 

He moaned, falling deeper into heaven. His throat relaxed and he found a rhythm breathing through his nose so that the thick long tendril could push further still, going deeper and deeper with every thrust.

The sound of further cracking rippled through the air. Hubert’s head flopped and he could see the space between Edelgard’s legs had opened up. From there the tentacles wriggled free. From between the mass, another pushed forward, large and hungry and slick with wet from deep within her recesses. 

Hubert knew just where that was going. 

The tendril between his legs slithered away and he was spread all the more wider. The monster of a shaft snaked from between Edelgard’s legs and its slick head rubbed against his hole. Hubert closed his eyes and tried not to tense, tried to make himself a perfect hole for his lady. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the violation of her entrance. 

Hubert didn’t scream. He was not one to scream. Hubert was silence and shadows, he was secrets and the unknown. He did not scream. The way his back arched, the way he choked, the way his eyes opened wide, _that_ was enough of a scream when he was torn open for and by his majesty. 

Strong hands dug into his hips and with a great heave pulled him down onto the thick shaft. Edelgard grunted and it rolled like thunder. Another shove and Hubert moaned, quiet and muffled. He could feel the slick between his legs, a heat from where he had been ripped in two. She could have killed him and he would thank her as he breathed his last breath. 

The intruder in Hubert’s ass began to move. It wriggled and squirmed, filling up his space. It slithered in and out of him, moving in time with the rod down his throat. They picked up speed, pounding into him, driving deeper and deeper with more to spare. 

Hubert dangled in the air, propped up and weightless. Edelgard’s praise held him, all her mighty hands holding him tight, making sure he’d never fall. She’d never let him go. 

Hubert’s head lolled as he tried to look up. He looked down the expanse of his body, to the dark tendril across his chest and the large hands digging into his hips. Blood blossomed from where Edelgard’s fingernails drove in. His stomach pulsated and he realized it was in time with the thrusts from his ass. The instrument fucking deep enough, hard enough to distend his rail thin body. 

Fear swelled within him, but he was far too exhausted to let it take over. 

The rod coiled deep within him and he felt it press and rub against a pleasure. It kept going and going and rubbing and the pressure built enough to dance stars over Hubert’s eyes. 

His cock swelled with need. 

Hubert could barely keep his eyes open and once again looked upon his lady. 

Edelgard was not faring much better than him. Hubert swore her eyes had widened. The hunger was apparent, red orbs dotting around in deep sockets. Silver hair had fallen from their tight bindings, falling into her face, painting his Emperor in shades of manic. 

Her mouth opened. Not in the way a mere humans would. There were no parting of lips. A jagged line ran from jaw to jaw, ear to ear, and slowly it peeled away, falling open. Darkness and teeth waited inside. Wet slicked at the corners, iridescent as an oil slick as it caught the light. 

Hubert found himself yearning to kiss her again. 

The rod down his throat pounded harder and Hubert threw back his head to accommodate his Emperor. She picked up double time, stuffing him to bursting at both ends. He could feel his throat swelling the way his bowels did. He could feel the fearsome press against his prostate. He could feel his oncoming orgasm. 

Edelgard’s pants picked up, singing like multiple voices and grinding gears. Hot wet fell to his stomach and he couldn’t tell if it was his own precum or from that open maw. 

Hubert came first. 

Without being touched, his dick twitched in the sunlight and cum splattered against his skin. He didn’t have time to let it ride out, let it die down as Edelgard kept taking what was rightfully hers. She continued to fuck him, to fill him, to rut into every pore of his body. Hubert wanted to shed his skin, wanted to rip his hair and eyes out, wanted to give in and scream as she kept _pressing_ on his most secret of places. It rounded from discomfort to pain to blinding searing unfathomable sensations to numb. 

Edelgard. Screamed. 

In one swift pull, she yanked Hubert down on her impromptu dick until his skin hit carapace. Something warm and hot filled him from both ends. It shot down his throat, deep up his ass. He couldn’t hold on to it, couldn’t keep it within him. He coughed and felt it burble pass his lips, felt it trickle out his ass. 

All he could do was take what his lady offered. 

The heaving breaths of the great creature above him slowly died down. Bit by painful bit, she extracted the tendrils from his throat, from within him. They uncoiled from around his chest and arms and legs. 

He fell. It may have been for just a second or a year, but the support was no longer there. His heart lurched into his abused throat. His brain hit his skull. All around him was indistinguishable air and all he had was a rag doll body. 

Edelgard would never let her most favored servant fall. She caught him and quickly pulled him close to her body. The heat from her nodes warmed against oversensitive skin. Slowly, she lowered them back to the ground, until her body collapsed against the stone walls. 

Edelgard cradled his limp form, holding him against her chest. With a shaking hand, he reached up to rest a palm against her, rest his cheek over her heart. He looked up with what he could. 

She was whole again. Her mouth fixed back into that blank expression. Her body reformed. Unsullied and perfect, as if nothing had happened. 

Edelgard stroked back his hair, fingers delicately running down his face. 

“My dear Hubert,” she uttered. 

Hubert weakly smiled up at her, just barely able to keep his eyes open. His abused throat ached as he tried to work it and his voice nothing more than a rasp, but Edelgard was always to be worshipped. 

“My lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurk 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	19. Mercedes/Annette - tickling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette went for a cookie. It snapped between her teeth, crunching loudly. 
> 
> Mercedes jumped. She whirled around, big blue eyes wide in the dark.
> 
> “Annie!” she breathed. “You scared me.” 
> 
> “Mmm,” Annette said, licking away crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  TICKLING  
> LIGHT D/s**
> 
> So I looked at the prompt and then looked at the ship and went 'yeah this is gonna be some cute ass shit' then I started writing and it was all 'Annette can't sleep bc of all the people she's killed and Mercedes is stress baking for the same reason' wat 
> 
> So yeah. It's a hurt/comfort now. Sure.

Annette followed her nose to the kitchen. The smell of sweet cakes and cookies and sugary confections filled her olfactory senses. She hummed, practically dancing down the outdoor corridor, disregarding flowers and fireflies, her focus singular on her goal. 

It was far too late at night for the reasonable human being to be awake. Thoughts of the war and bloodshed had Annette rolling around in bed, unable to find sleep. She would close her eyes and her mind would play tricks on her, that floating faces would be smiling at her from the corners of her room. 

A little night air was what she needed, but walking out on the grounds of Garreg Mach with all its ghosts left her jumpy and nervous. 

Thats why, when she smelled the comforts of home, the comforts of sweets and sugar, her mood instantly lifted. 

The dining hall was dim. A ghostly affair with all the lights and fires out, with no one seated at the tables and devoid of boisterous conversation. It should have been haunting, but instead was filled with all the tell tale scents of a bakery at market. At the far end was a soft glowing light of a brick oven and the gentle form moving back and forth behind the counter. The humming of a sweet hymn echoed off the empty walls, bringing all the warmth of a mother’s hug. 

Annette recognized those baked goods anywhere. 

With a pleasant smile, she crossed the room. 

Lined up on the counter was the colorful array of sweets. Annette’s tracked prey. There were cakes and cookies. A small tray of honey buns. Chouquettes and macarons. All of them would be a surprise to the incoming army come morning. A welcome use of supplies. 

The lovely creature behind the counter must have been at it for hours. 

Annette went for a cookie. It snapped between her teeth, crunching loudly. 

Mercedes jumped. She whirled around, big blue eyes wide in the dark.

“Annie!” she breathed. “You scared me.” 

“Mmm,” Annette said, licking away crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry.” 

She didn’t sound sorry. She took another bite. It had vanilla in it. 

Mercedes pouted. 

“Next time announce yourself,” she said. Her voice was light, more so than usual, as if she were trying to keep quiet and not wake anyone. 

“I’ll be sure to next time. Hey are those profiteroles?” 

Mercedes smacked Annette’s outstretched hand, keeping her away from the tasty treat. 

“Ow,” Annette said, shaking her hand. She pouted, one cheek puffing out in indignance. 

“Hardly,” Mercedes laughed and went back to her oven. 

Annette watched her friend work. Mercedes worked with grace and perfect posture. Like in all things she seemed to float. A perfect angel who had graced the world with her presence. She was dressed in her nightgown, just as Annette had been, and at that Annette cocked her head. She walked around the counter to join her friend in the softly glowing light and the radiating heat. At that distance she could see the sweat on Mercedes’ brow. 

Annette wondered if it was just from the fires. 

Mercedes put yet another tray of little cakes into the oven and turned that perpetual soft smile to her friend. She wiped the flour off her hands on a small smocked apron tied around her waist. 

“What are you doing up so late Annie?” she asked. 

Annette hopped up on the counter next to the chorus line of sweets. She crossed her legs and lazily swung them back and forth. She shrugged idly, trying not to think of the apparitions of horror in her room. 

Mercedes sighed and crossed her arms, looking like the world’s big sister. They both knew she could see right through Annette’s facade. 

“And what about you?” Annette asked, swiping a well piped flower off the corner of a cake. She popped the icing in her mouth. “What has you up so late, baking?” 

Mercedes looked over the spread. A soft sadness touched her smile. 

“I bake when I’m stressed,” she said. “When I’m upset and unhappy.” 

Annette frowned, her finger resting in her mouth. Out of everyone in the whole world, Mercedes is the one person who shouldn’t be unhappy. 

“Why?” Annette asked. 

Mercedes looked sadly up at her friend. The arms around her midsection hugged her tightly, protecting herself from the world. And they both knew that Mercedes had ghosts of her own. 

Annette frowned at the ground, not knowing what to say or do. If she did, she would’ve said it to herself. 

She glanced over the baked goods. Beautiful art that came from the bloodshed of war. 

She went for a profiterole. 

“Hey!” Mercedes said. 

But she was too late. Annette popped the whole thing into her mouth and her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk collecting acorns. Custard peppered the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t care. She had to move quickly if she wanted to consume her prize. 

“Annie!” Mercedes laughed. She was laughing and that was the point. “If you eat too much you’ll get fat!” 

She reached over and poked Annette’s side, her finger digging into the chubby flesh that was already there. 

“Hey hey!” Annette said, trying to dance away, flakes of puff pastry flying from her mouth. “Stop!” 

“Then stop stealing my sweets,” Mercedes said with another sharp jab. 

Annette giggled involuntarily. Her hand whipped out and grabbed another sugar dusted vanilla cookie. She held it just out of Mercedes’ reach and chewed on her profiterole furiously, readying her mouth for another baked good. 

“Annie!” Mercedes whined, trying to reach around her friend. “Give it back!” 

Annette took a delicate bite from the cookie, keeping her head as far out of Mercedes’ reach as possible. Mercedes gave up on trying to get her cookie back and went in for the attack. 

Fingers danced over Annette’s stomach, digging in and wriggling. Annette coughed out a laugh and overstuffed crumbs went flying. She slapped a hand to her mouth. 

“‘et ee wallow ‘irst,” she said around the mouthful. 

Mercedes stopped, holding her hands up with a pleasant smile, watching Annette chew. But when Annette swallowed, it was all over. Mercedes descended again. 

Her hands immediately went for Annette's waist, wriggling fingers tickling pudge through her nightgown. Laugher pealed from Annette and filled the dining hall. She reeled backwards on the counter, legs kicking, but made no move to fend herself from Mercedes' attacks.

Mercedes went for Annette's sides, underneath her arms, around her neck, all while wearing a sweet smile. The devious woman had a sadistic streak that was evidenced in moments of vulnerability. A cutting word, a painful insight, or just tickling a friend until she cried. 

Annette leaned back on the counter, holding onto the stitch in her side. Mercedes worked around it, tickling her ribcage, tickling her hip. Annette’s legs kicked and spasmed, she threw back her head and laughed long and loud, her eyes were squeezed painfully shut until she saw stars. 

The edge of the counter snuck up on Annette until soon it wasn’t there at all. The ground gave away and Annette yelped as she dropped like a stone. 

“Annie!” Mercedes shouted, hands out no longer to attack but catch her friend. 

She was mostly successful. They fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, propped up against the counter side. Annette hit the ground a little hard, her breath knocked out of her and her teeth clicked. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the oven. Mercedes had flopped on top of her, her arms wrapped around Annette. She looked up slowly with big apologetic eyes. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

Skin still crawling from the overstimulation, Annette bit back a residual laugh and nodded. She hiccupped once. That was enough to bring a smile to Mercedes’ face. 

Annette basked in Mercedes’ beauty. That sweet little smile was just as sugary as any confection she could make. And just as evil. 

Delicate fingers once again crawled up Annette’s sides. Slow at first, but quick to pick up speed again. Annette fell back into laughter, slumping against the counter as her butt slid across the floor. 

She endured the onslaught. Mercedes’ fingers sliding up and down her sides. They hooked under her arms, slipping into her tiny cap sleeves, digging into the skin of her armpits. They travelled back down, poking and prodding with quick succession, over Annette’s hips, down over her thighs. They tickled the underside, finding skin where Annette’s nightgown had rode up. 

It was all too much. Annette didn’t dare tell her to stop. 

Mercedes shifted ever closer and straddled Annette’s legs, going straight for her weak spot: her stomach. She danced her fingers like a sorceress, trailing up and down the weakened muscle and pudge. A light giggle was hidden under Annette’s guffaws, signalling just how much Mercedes was enjoying this too. 

Down down her fingers went, prodding into Annette’s abdomen. A tight wet pull had begun to twist between Annette’s legs. A familiar feeling, a warmth that was familiar to Annette. 

“Oh!” Annette jolted in place, hands protectively over her chest, and eyes wide. 

The sudden shock of Annette’s exclamation was enough to stop Mercedes. She pulled her hands back and sat upright, eyes just as wide as Annette’s. From her expression, Annette knew she recognized that sound. Mercedes looked down her friend’s body, taking it in. 

Annette hiccupped again. 

Ever so slowly, Mercedes lowered her hands to Annette once more. The tickling was slow to start up again, but start it did. This time with new purpose. Annette shuddered as Mercedes’ hands moved over her sides. She laughed weakly as they crawled over her ribs. The laughter half morphed into a moan as they moved lower, dipping between her thighs. 

Mercedes got up, picking Annette up with her. 

“Come on Annie,” she said lightly. 

She maneuvered them around until Mercedes was the one with her back against the counter, pulling Annette back first between her legs. Annette’s breathing picked up, her chest pumping, watching Mercedes’ hands move up and down her body, smoothing over her nightgown. 

Then she started in again. 

Mercedes’ fingers danced over Annette’s midsection. The giggles still came, albeit tighter, more apprehensive. Annette held on to Mercedes, braced for the ride. 

Mercedes worked over Annette, tickling up her sides, up her arms, hugging onto her neck. They danced lightly over her skin, pulling out twitches and shivers, making her hair stand on end. Annette’s legs braced and she threw back her head as the tight heat in her crotch only grew and grew. 

Mercedes pulled on the fabric of Annette’s nightgown, bunching it up in her hands. Bit by bit, inch by inch, Annette was slowly revealed to the kitchen. Her thighs, then her hips. Her belly button and her breasts. 

“Merci?” Annette asked, watching it all happen with stark fascination. 

“Here,” Mercedes said, tapping the bunched up fabric against Annette’s lips. “Put this in your mouth.” 

Annette turned her head to look at her friend with wide questioning eyes, finding only that sugar sweet smile aimed back at her. She did as she was told and opened her jaw. Mercedes stuffed her nightgown inside. Annette whimpered, but Mercedes’ magical fingers were already moving over her bare stomach. 

With everything revealed, Annette’s skin was at Mercedes’ mercy. Every flick of her fingers made Annette’s skin jump and twitch. She twisted, dancing with Mercedes’ touch, but never away from it. Her laughter had morphed into soft moans and tiny mewls. Mercedes’s hand wandered from the folds of her stomach, up under her breasts, making them dance. Annette groaned around the cloth gag and threw her head back on Mercedes’ shoulder. 

“Shh Annie,” Mercedes said. She slowly lifted up one of Annette’s arms. “Its not so bad.” Up went the other. Until her hands were linked behind Mercedes’ head. 

Annette was completely exposed. 

Dropping any and all coyness, Mercedes attacked. Her fingers dug in roughly, moving quick, up and down Annette’s body. They went up into exposed armpits, down her sides, over her hips. One hand slowed as the other went for her thigh. In a painful action, Mercedes dipped her fingers underneath the band of Annette’s smallclothes. 

Annette practically screamed into her gag, eyes wide, long before Mercedes found her wet. It was all over when she first touched. 

Delicate fingers rubbed over Annette’s clit. Circled it. _Tickled her._

The free hand kept moving, kept exploring, finding more and new sensitive spots. Mercedes pulled on Annette’s leg, pulling her wider and her leg higher, and found that behind her knee made Annette wail in humorous pain. 

Mercedes’ fingers picked up. Annette’s smallclothes bounced and danced with her ministrations. Her other hand moved far too quickly to track. Her legs, her stomach, her breasts, her armpits. Even Mercedes’ heavy breath on her neck tickled. 

Annette craned into it, laughing through the cloth. She lost control of her jaw and her nightgown, wet from her spittle, slipped free from her mouth. Her legs spread wider and wider without any coaxing from Mercedes. Her head fell back, her mouth panting and open wide. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. 

"Ah. . .," Annette gasped. "Ah!" 

The fingers on her clit. The fingers cupping her breast. The soft body behind her. 

Annette yelled into the empty dining hall and came. Her legs spasmed, her heels smacking against the floor. Mercedes didn’t let up, still rubbing and tickling her, all the way through it. Annette bucked against the offending hand, slipping and falling in Mercedes’ hold. She laughed and wailed and cried. 

She was released. 

Mercedes didn’t let up until Annette had gone quiet. Even then, she still gave Annette’s clit one last slow rub, making the smaller woman twitch. Her hands slowly wrapped around Annette, cradling her, and Mercedes rested her head atop Annette’s head. 

Annette breathed long and slow, her body slowly deflating. The ghosts in her mind quelled, even if only for a moment. She looked upwards and saw the looming shadows of plates upon plates of baked goods and sweet things. 

Mercedes baked when she was stressed. 

Annette wriggled out of Mercedes’ hold to the floor, rolling over on her belly. 

“What are you doing, Annie?” Mercedes asked, laughter like a bell on each syllable. 

“Tasting something sweet.” 

Annette pulled up the hem of Mercedes’ nightgown and slithered inside. At the first touch of her tongue, Mercedes gasped and dropped both hands onto the back of Annette’s head. 

“Annie!” she called out, lighter than anything Annette had ever heard her. 

Annette pulled down Mercedes’ smallclothes just enough to get at her cunt. She closed her eyes in the dark of her nightgown, the scent of her so prominent. Her tongue ran between the folds, pressed against her clit, already warm and wet from what she had done to Annette. 

Annette worked quickly, greedy and hungry for every tasty treat Mercedes had to offer. She wriggled her hand up and simply slipped two fingers into her friend’s slicked up cunt. Mercedes breathed and gasped, her moans muffled behind her hand. Always so polite, always so airy. A simple beauty beyond compare. 

It seemed Mercedes’ work up of Annette had done much more for her than she had let on. It wasn’t long until Mercedes’ thighs clamped around Annette’s head, until she moaned delicately behind her hand, until she jolted up to meet Annette’s mouth. Wet spit from Mercedes’ cunt into Annette’s wanting mouth and Annette was quick to gobble it all up. She lapped at her friend’s slit long after she finished, taking in every last drop. And when she had her fill, she carefully crawled out and back into Mercedes’ hold. 

Annette rested her head against Mercedes’ bosom, nestling into it like a pillow. Mercedes was still catching her breath and gingerly wrapped her arms around her friend. They held each other and sighed softly. 

Simply being held by the warmth of the oven.

“Thank you Annie,” Mercedes whispered. 

Annette hummed. 

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want more dom Mercedes in my life
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	20. Ashe/Dedue - body worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to try something,” he said. 
> 
> Dedue sat up straighter, intrigued. 
> 
> “Whats that?” he asked. 
> 
> “Just lie down,” Ashe said. “I think you’ll like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  BODY WORSHIP  
> SOFF**
> 
> Oh look. . . its my ship :))))) 
> 
> To anyone who follows me on the reg, y'all already know. You know. 
> 
> Ashedue wins the award for the softest fill out of the bunch. Its just. . . like a big warm hug. I love them so much. They cured racism with food. <3

The dormitory was abandoned in the quiet of the afternoon and all that could be heard was the rustle of the wind through the trees, dainty bird song of a lone sparrow, and the soft pass of short, wet kisses. 

Dedue sat next to Ashe on his bed, hunched over so that he may meet his lover’s lips. Ashe held onto his face, gently cupping his cheeks, his jaw, and titled his head in the other direction. He laughed, quiet and soft, as his nose passed Dedue’s. His smile slipped away, a small heart breaking moan of desperation just under a heavy breath. 

Everything that stirred heat within Dedue. 

This silent agreement of their next steps hung heavy over them. Without even having to ask, Dedue knew what was going to happen. A dance they had done a million times. Kisses in Ashe’s doorway and a stumble to his bed. They sat, situated next to each other, a normal start. Dedue waited for Ashe to move, for him to lower Dedue to the bed or straddle his lap. To slide his fingers underneath Dedue’s collar or move his mouth to Dedue’s neck. When none of those things happened, Dedue took it as the invitation to act first. 

He slid his hands over Ashe’s waist and gently pushed. But Ashe froze, holding himself up, and pulled away from the kiss. 

“Wait,” he whispered against Dedue’s lips. 

Dedue didn’t want to wait. He wanted to do anything but wait. But he paused all the same, happy to bask under Ashe’s coy smile. 

“I want to try something,” he said. 

Dedue sat up straighter, intrigued. 

“Whats that?” he asked. 

“Just lie down,” Ashe said. “I think you’ll like it.” 

Dedue stared at his lover before complying. He trusted Ashe completely. He lay down on the surprisingly soft bed, shifting so his head may rest against the pillow. Ashe crawled next to him, but did not lay down. Instead, he smiled down at Dedue for a long moment, stroking his fingers through his hair and pulled on the tie, letting fine strands splay out across the pillow. Ashe ran his hand through Dedue’s hair and leaned in to kiss him again. 

The room descended into quiet once more. In the distance was the sounds of activity, armies milling about in the comfort between battle, horses braying, the quiet burble of running water, all things that did not matter. Over Dedue was a wonderful warmth and weight. Thats what mattered. 

Ashe’s hands ran through Dedue’s hair, down his face, cupping it once more. His touch trailed over Dedue’s jaw, down his neck, over his shoulders. He held on, a gentle grip, not out of desperation or need or even to hold himself up. Merely touching. 

Slowly, he moved his head, tilting it to the side. Soft lips kissed at the corner of Dedue’s mouth. Then his cheek. His lips ghosted across Dedue’s skin, a light, achingly slow touch, until they found Dedue’s ear. Dedue’s breath caught as Ashe’s tongue slowly traced the shell of his ear, his lips once again slowly kissing, teeth lightly nipping at the lobe. Dedue’s hands twitched when that tongue slipped inside. 

“Ashe,” he gasped. 

“Mm,” Ashe hummed in his ear. 

Soft lips continued their trek downwards, kissing just under his ear on the thick muscle of Dedue’s neck. Then another, just a little further down. On the other side, Ashe’s hand traced over Dedue’s jaw, fingers tickling over the shape of it. Steadily, Ashe traveled, his mouth moving around Dedue’s neck, kissing as Dedue’s breathing picked up in pace. His fingers found the hem of Dedue’s shirt and pushed fabric aside to trace over the shape of Dedue’s collarbone. 

In one long and lazy move, Ashe licked a stripe up the center of Dedue’s neck. Dedue gasped and it was quickly drowned out by a soft explorative kiss. 

Dedue longed to touch Ashe, to rest his hands on Ashe’s flank, to hold him close. But he wasn’t sure if that was apart of Ashe’s agenda. He didn’t dare disrupt _that_ if it meant more of what he was doing. 

Ashe reached down and found the edge of Dedue’s shirt. He pushed up quickly, revealing Dedue’s skin to the room, and only breaking the kiss to pull the garment over his head. For a brief flash Dedue’s vision was obscured, but once he was disrobed, he could look upon Ashe again. 

His lover smiled down at him, a slow sweet thing that spread across his face. His eyes darted down Dedue’s body, taking it all in and enjoying what he found. 

Dedue fought down a whimper. 

Ashe crawled over Dedue, straddling over his hips. Surely he must have felt what he did to Dedue, but if he did, he disregarded it. 

His hands traced over Dedue’s form, starting at the muscle of his abdomen, the obliques that shaped his hips, up his stomach, over his chest, then coming to rest on Dedue’s shoulders. Ashe’s pale eyes met Dedue’s own, staring down at him and blocking out the dim light through the window. He smiled again, enjoying the turmoil that was etched on Dedue’s face. 

Dedue’s hands hovered in the air. 

“Ashe,” he whimpered. 

“You can hold me,” Ashe said, lowering his head again. “But only that.” 

The second Ashe’s mouth was on Dedue’s again, his hands were on Ashe’s hips.

He held on to him, not pulling him close, not squeezing or feeling or groping. Doing only as Ashe had asked and enjoying melting into the kisses Ashe gave. 

Ashe moved again, his lips once again trailing away from Dedue’s mouth. Again, down his jaw, to his neck. There he paused, to kiss a little harder and to suckle against the skin, marking Dedue as his. Satisfied by the soft gasp Dedue let escape, Ashe continued on. To the crook of his neck, to his shoulder. Pausing again to mark Dedue one more time. 

Dedue’s fingers tightened around Ashe’s hips. 

Ashe slid further down Dedue’s arm, dragging his teeth over the skin. His hands trailed ahead, moving quickly down, until he found Dedue’s hand. He pried it from his hip and, keeping that sweet slow pace, Ashe sat up and brought Dedue’s hand to his face. 

Ashe’s eyes were closed, lost in his own world, as he leaned his cheek into Dedue’s palm. He breathed in deep, nuzzling into the warmth, in his own little world. Dedue achingly curled his hand to cup that face, enjoying the touch. 

It was made all the more when Ashe turned his face into his palm and gently rested a kiss in the center. Then another at the calluses at the base of his fingers. His lips trailed as he dragged a gasp up Dedue’s touch, until he could wrap his lips around two of his fingers. 

Dedue choked on his own breath. 

Ashe’s tongue curled around his digits, between them, pushing them further and further in. Dedue tried to keep as still as he could, determined not to interrupt Ashe’s silent worship. He could only watch. 

Ashe tilted his head back as he slipped Dedue’s fingers all the way into his mouth. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned, happy and content to sit like that. 

Dedue’s pants were entirely too tight. 

Ashe’s other hand trailed down Dedue’s arm, finding his hand clutching at Ashe’s hip. He interlaced their fingers together and brought Dedue’s hand up into the air. In a fluid movement, Ashe slid off Dedue’s fingers and leaned in to rest a gentle kiss to the back of Dedue’s knuckles, then another to his wrist. His focus was singular, ignoring Dedue beneath him as he paid attention to no one else. 

Finally, his eyes opened and pierced right through Dedue. 

Dedue’s breath caught. 

From the curl of Ashe’s lips, it was the desired effect. 

Ashe let go of Dedue’s hands so that he may lean his head down. He rested another kiss to Dedue’s shoulder, peppering his skin up his collar bone. Dedue’s hands slowly hovered back down, moving through the air like a thick liquid. They found Ashe again, his body so slim between Dedue’s grip. 

Ashe traveled down wards. Down Dedue’s sternum, each simple kiss leaving behind a quiet wet song.  
The mood changed when Ashe veered off and found a very attentive nipple. 

Dedue gasped and his hands dug in tight as Ashe ran his tongue over the bud. A slow pull, dragging the flat of his tongue over Dedue’s skin. Curious fingers travelled up Dedue’s body until they found the other nipple. He ran his fingers in slow circles, gently rubbing over it, playing with it, a calm methodical motion. 

It was less calm when Dedue felt teeth. 

He gripped his lover tighter still. 

“Ashe,” he hissed. 

He wasn’t even going to pretend he didn’t hear that quiet, delighted laugh. 

Ashe hummed and went back to his wet praise. His lips clamped down and a gentle sucking pulled at Dedue. 

“Ashe,” Dedue moaned. 

He ran his hands over Ashe’s back, pulling up the shirt. Ashe gently reached behind him and moved Dedue’s hand back in place. 

“None of that,” he practically sang, his head moving over to the other nipple. “Only hold.” 

Dedue whined at the next gentle suck. It was one part torture, one part heaven. Excruciating bliss. Ashe’s talented tongue toyed and played with Dedue. Teeth raked across his chest, biting into his tit, before Ashe placed a slight kiss next to his nipple. 

Dedue wanted nothing more than to return all the praise. 

Ashe continued moving down, dragging his lips over Dedue’s body. His hands moved slowly, bowing in solemn worship. He paused, open mouthed, between Dedue’s pectorals. Ashe took one in either hand and dug his fingers in, squeezing the muscle, before moving one. His palms rippled flat over Dedue’s muscles, feeling each and every crevice, every shape they made. 

He got to Dedue’s belly button and slowly licked the rim. 

Dedue closed his eyes and turned his head, whimpering once more. 

The further down Ashe moved, the more he fell out of Dedue’s hands. Dedue’s grip slackened, not touching but his fingers dragging up Ashe’s shoulders. Ashe once again took Dedue’s hands in his own and laced their fingers. He placed a single kiss to Dedue’s abdomen, just at the edge of his pants, and pulsed their hands together. Dedue’s head whipped the other way. 

Careful clever fingers began undoing Dedue’s belt. It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did, but Ashe took his time. He pulled at Dedue’s slacks, pulling them up over his hips. Up and over a very hungry cock. Ashe hummed to himself, barely giving Dedue’s erection a second glance, before going back in to praise Dedue’s skin once more. 

Ashe’s lips were soft against Dedue’s thigh, right where the curve of his hip pointed down to his crotch. But instead of moving up, Ashe went down. He licked across the inside of Dedue’s thigh, tracing the shape of muscle. Down to his knee, down his leg, pulling at Dedue’s pants as he did. He pulled Dedue’s foot out of the pant leg and gently placed it down on the bed. Once again, soft lips met skin as Ashe placed a kiss to the top of Dedue’s foot. 

Reverently, he pulled down the other leg of Dedue’s pants and set them off to the side with his shirt. Ashe kept his eyes down, as if in the presence of a being that he could not look upon. Instead, leaning down once more to kiss at Dedue’s ankle. 

The worship traveled up again. Gentle sweet kisses, up his shin, atop a bent knee, then back down his thigh. Ashe titled his head inwards, tongue trailing behind as he slid between Dedue’s legs. 

Dedue watched. His neck craned to look down his body to see silver hair between his legs. His chest heaved with every heavy breath. Ready and anticipatory of what would happen next. 

Ashe slowly slid his hands under Dedue’s thighs and pushed. His fingers trailed up, urging Dedue’s feet up and off the bed, raising his legs and exposing him more. 

And once he was where Ashe wanted him, Ashe leaned in, tongue first. 

Dedue moaned low and slow as Ashe’s tongue lapped at his hole. 

Ashe got to work. His tongue masterful as always, made all the worse from the crawl over Dedue’s skin. Ashe moved slow, his head sliding up and down with each drag over Dedue. Dedue could see his eyes were closed, just as blissed out as Dedue was. 

Only hold, he was told. Dedue rested a hand atop Ashe's head.

Ashe’s eyes blinked open, looking up and over Dedue’s cock. He was half cross eyed, just as thrown. His lids slowly closed again and he moved upwards. 

His tongue trailed, placing pressure on the place between Dedue’s sack and hole. Dedue threw his head back and moaned again. His fingers dug into Ashe’s scalp. He couldn’t help it. 

“Ashe,” he breathed. 

Ashe hummed and wrapped his lips around Dedue’s sack. He suckled and Dedue’s whole world became that tantilizing mouth. The hum from Ashe’s lips radiated around him, a single song that Dedue wanted on constant repeat. 

Then the tongue moved over skin again and Dedue groaned long and loud. He let his feet drop back to the bed, pushing up into Ashe’s mouth. Gentle hands only pushed his hips back down. 

“Ashe,” Dedue whined. “Please.” 

Ashe sat up just a little more and finally _finally_ wrapped his hand around the base of Dedue’s cock. 

“Of course,” he whispered and slipped Dedue’s cock into his mouth. 

Dedue gasped, breath shaking in relief, before Ashe began moving again. It was torturously slow. Each bob of his head, each curl of his tongue, lasted a million years a piece. His touch was warm, his tongue was comfort, his mouth too hot for Dedue to handle. His fingers curled and he unwillingly pulled on Ashe’s hair. Ashe only moaned and Dedue could hear the smile. 

The air of the room chilled Dedue’s skin as Ashe pulled off his dick. He jerked him, long and slow, pulling his foreskin over the head. Ashe held his cock like a holy relic and leaned in, licking a stripe on the underside. The sheer pressure and pleasure of it greater than anything else that could possibly want his attention. 

Ashe lapped at the base of his dick. Ashe kissed the head. Ashe nibbled on the foreskin. 

In that moment, Ashe could do anything he wanted. 

With careful consideration, Ashe rested Dedue’s cock on his tongue again. Open mouth, so that Dedue could see his cock head resting on the wet. Their eyes met and the challenge in Ashe’s gaze was unparalleled.

Dedue didn’t dare move. 

Taking that as permission, request, _plea_ , Ashe closed his eyes and went back down Dedue’s cock. 

He didn’t stop to suck, to bob, to get Dedue off. His lips traveled, his tongue flat and relaxed, as Ashe took in more and more. Dedue’s eyes widened, watching his lover drop down on his dick, until Ashe’s nose hit the hair at the base of his cock. 

There he stayed, resting with Dedue’s cock filling his mouth, and breathed out a sigh of content. 

Dedue’s head flopped back, relishing in the stillness and the wet warmth. His hand relaxed, feeling soft strands between his fingers. 

Touch slipped between Dedue’s ass and circled his hole. Just as meticulous as he had been all afternoon, Ashe pushed his finger inside. 

Dedue had nothing left in him. He was tensed and relaxed at the same time. He was overwhelmed and content. He was a swirl of contradictions as Ashe dragged him further and further down. 

Finally, Ashe began to move. 

He bobbed his head up and down Dedue’s cock with a familiar purpose. His hand moved up and down the base, squeezing snug. The finger in Dedue’s ass pulsed in and out, gently fucking him. 

Ashe worshiped every inch of him. 

Dedue had nothing left. He lay still on his back, his body slowly losing any of its power. His hand slipped off Ashe’s head, laying limply across his stomach. He closed his eyes and his breathing became long and slow. His whole world fell into the comfort of Ashe’s touch. 

Dedue was silent as he came. Just a simple soft intake of air and he spilled into Ashe’s mouth. There was no build up or fanfare, but Ashe was ready regardless. He took what Dedue gave him, keeping his mouth still and slack, and swallowing every last drop.

Silence and stillness filled the room, leaving nothing else. 

When it was over, Ashe was slow to pull off Dedue’s dick, but placed a gentle kiss on his cock head once he did. Dedue gasped, his hips twitching from the mere feel of it. When he finally managed to open his eyes, Ashe was upright, sitting back on his ankles, hands folded in his lap. 

Wearing the most innocent of smiles. 

Dedue could only stare him down for so long. 

He was quick to prop himself up, pull his lover close and kissed him fierce. Ashe laughed into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Dedue’s shoulders, his hands delicately touching everything he had already mapped out. 

“Does that mean you liked it?” Ashe laughed between eager kisses. 

“Yes,” Dedue breathed against his lips. 

Ashe laughed, running his fingers through Dedue’s hair. Laughter turned to shock as he was pushed backwards on the bed. Wasting no time, Dedue hovered over his lover. 

“Now,” he said. “Your turn.” 

Ashe’s smile grew slow and sweet as Dedue leaned in to worship him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UUUUGHDOIFJGASOIDFJD I'M A MESS OVER THIS 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	21. Dorothea/Edelgard - temperature play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good.” Dorothea kissed her on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “Are you ready?” 
> 
> Edelgard nodded. 
> 
> Dorothea sat up and reached for one of the already lit candles. It was special designed and burning quicker than one made for solely light. The wax was red and dripping. 
> 
> And would simply look lovely against pale skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  TEMPERATURE PLAY  
> WAX PLAY  
> ICE PLAY**
> 
> Got nothing on this one. Just some soft smut.

Nimble fingers worked down the ornate buttons of Edelgard’s shirt. One by one, they popped open to reveal the gift of pale skin underneath. The revelation went unnoticed in favor of the soft exchange of kisses. 

Dorothea kept her eyes closed, focusing only on the press of soft lips against hers. Edelgard tilted her head and breathed in delicately before repositioning. Lips slipped in like puzzle pieces as Edelgard’s tongue ran over Dorothea’s. Dorothea whimpered and pushed the shirt off Edelgard’s slim but powerful shoulders. The ones that carried the world. 

A sinful smile and another shift was all Dorothea got in return. Edelgard’s hand rested on her thigh, the other propping herself up on the bed. She made no move to help or disrobe Dorothea, only luxuriating in the undivided attention she received. Worshipped as she was rightfully deserved. 

Next came the wrap of her skirt. Dorothea’s hands traced lightly down Edelgard’s shoulders, over the soft curve of her breasts, down the flat of her stomach, until she reached the ties of her skirt. Dorothea plucked, loosening them from the tight bind. The cloth unwravelled like a blooming flower, revealing equally pale legs. A strong but slim body. They held the power to help Dorothea’s Emperor wield an axe twice her size. Dorothea gave them a squeeze, delighted in the gasp Edelgard let slip free. 

Loving and reverent, Edelgard slipped a hand to Dorothea’s cheek. Her fingers slid between chestnut locks, her palm cupping soft skin. She tilted her head again, her touch coaxing Dorothea to do the same, and tasted of Dorothea’s mouth. 

Dorothea’s exploration of Edelgard’s body continued. Up and up she went, her fingers smoothing over shapely hips, the dip of her waist, and up into her hair. She pulled on the pins and bit by bit pale hair unfurled in silver cascades. Dorothea’s hands wandered through the thin strands, sliding through them like a ghost. She cupped the back of Edelgard’s head and her fingers dug in possessively. Winning control of the kiss, holding her Emperor still, and doing as she pleased. 

The kiss deepened. Dorothea’s tongue delved in, their mouths wide and lined up. They tasted of each other’s air, breathing heavy, tinged with a whine of desperation. Dorothea was sure that came from Edelgard. The wet of saliva and want became uncontrollable, not that Dorothea wanted to keep in control. She pulled on Edelgard’s hair, maneuvered her Emperor’s head, and pressed back against her tongue. 

When her wants were fulfilled, Dorothea pulled back, letting her tongue trail behind her. Edelgard’s eyes hung heavy, her mouth wide, and a little bit of drool trailed over her lip. Pleasure drugged and at Dorothea’s mercy. Dorothea grinned and nipped at that shiny lip. 

Going in for more, Dorothea went back to touching. Her hands trailed down Edelgard’s back, bumping into the binding of her small clothes. She dipped her fingers under the band and pulled it up and over her Emperor's head. The cloth caught on modest breasts, leaving them to drop out fetching and perfect. Leaving her bare and all Dorothea’s. 

“Beautiful, Edie,” she said. 

The smallclothes were discarded somewhere that wasn’t important in the room. She curled her hands around those exposed breasts, holding them as gentle as she would a baby bird. This time it was apparent when Edelgard whined. She furled back in on herself, her shoulders high, eyes closed. Dorothea smiled, gently massaging her Emperor’s breasts in small soothing circles. 

Her strong and superior Emperor was a beast on the battlefield. A force to match any natural disaster. But her skin was soft. And when Dorothea ran her thumbs over her nipples, Edelgard squeaked. 

“Cute,” Dorothea cooed. 

Edelgard opened her eyes and glowered up at Dorothea. 

“Even cuter,” Dorothea laughed. 

Edelgard sucked in a breath to say some admonishment, but Dorothea only bowed her head and took one of Edelgard’s nipples in her mouth. Edelgard’s rebuttal died with a gasp and a moan as Dorothea nibbled. Those powerful hands that could rip a man in two shook as they cradled Dorothea’s head. Slowly, Dorothea edged Edelgard back, laying her down on the bed, suckling all the while. When she pulled back to assess the damage, she found a shaking Edelgard with hazed over eyes. 

Dorothea smiled and brushed hair away. She leaned in, tilting Edelgard’s chin up, and dove back in to a deep kiss. Despite the gentle touches and the slow pace, the way she wriggled her tongue around Edelgard’s was nothing short of fucking her mouth. 

Dorothea didn’t let up until Edelgard whined. 

Slowly turning her Emperor into an unholy mess. 

“Are you doing okay?” she asked Edlegard, whispering over her cheeks. 

“Yes,” Edelgard breathed. Her eyes closed, displaying pale lashes on her cheeks. 

“Good.” Dorothea kissed her on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “Are you ready?” 

Edelgard nodded. 

Dorothea sat up and reached for one of the already lit candles. It was special designed and burning quicker than one made for solely light. The wax was red and dripping. 

And would simply look lovely against pale skin. 

Dorothea plucked it from the holder. Wax dribbled onto her skin, leaving behind a hot sting that quickly hardened over. She disregarded it, not giving away anything to Edelgard. 

Beneath her, Edelgard was splayed out on the bed. Nude from the waist up and breathing heavy. Pale hair fanned out on the pillow, hands up framing her face. She was unafraid. 

Dorothea’s smile curled and with all the confidence in the world she tilted the candle. 

Droplets of wax peppered Edelgard’s skin and the reigning Emperor squeaked once more. 

Dorothea carefully aimed, letting a small cascade of wax gather on Edelgard’s stomach. She delighted in the way the skin twitched, the way she lurched from that initial sear. Dorothea watched it happen, her head cocking with interest. She let the wax pool in the candle before dripping a trail from Edelgard’s belly button all the way up her sternum. 

The noises Edelgard made could drive Dorothea to sin. 

Her head threw back revealing a pale column of a throat. An invitation. 

Making sure to keep the candle level, Dorothea leaned in and latched on to that pale skin. Edelgard mewled as Dorothea drew out bruises. She bent her neck to the side, giving her lover more room to defile. 

Dorothea tilted the candle one more time. 

Red droplets stained Edelgard’s sensitive tits, making the Emperor scream. Dorothea smiled against the delicate skin and nipped at the reddened wet spot she had left behind. She looked over Edelgard’s body, the wax hardening, and dipped a finger in it. She smeared it around, circling Edelgard’s nipple, creating a hard red ring. She grinned at Edelgard’s little whimpers. How pathetic she made her Emperor with need. 

Dorothea sat up. She aimed carefully and gave Edelgard a beautiful necklace of red wax, careful to only trace from shoulder to shoulder and avoid her neck. Edelgard gasped as the candle dribbled over her collar bone. 

Dorothea crouched down again. She nibbled on Edelgard’s ear and spilled a little more wax without looking. 

“Pretty Edie,” she whispered, spilling some more. 

Edelgard yelped as it hit the underside of her tit. 

“Pretty pretty little Edie,” Dorothea cooed into her ear, dribbling more over her stomach. 

It twitched under the onslaught of heat. The droplets coming so fast that Edelgard could barely keep up. 

“My sweet Edie,” Dorothea moaned and slipped her tongue to trace the inside of Edelgard’s ear. 

She tilted the candle sideways and a cascade of wax spilled over her chest, spreading and pooling between her breasts. 

Edelgard bared her teeth and whined, acclimating to the brief but intense heat. She panted as it cooled on her skin and Dorothea delighted in the way she gripped the sheets. 

Biting her lip in sheer anticipation, she continued to spill wet wax down the flat expanse of Edelgard’s stomach, going lower. Feeling its destination, Edelgard sucked in a gasp, her head lifting to watch the trail emblazoned in her skin. Dorothea stopped just shy of Edelgard’s garments, her smallclothes having fallen low enough on her hips to show a small patch of hair. 

Edelgard clamped a hand on Dorothea’s thigh. 

“Dorothea,” she gasped. 

She sounded afraid. Excited and terrified. Something Dorothea never thought she’d have the privilege to witness. 

Dorothea kissed Edelgard’s neck once more and set the candle onto the side table. 

“I would never let any harm come to you,” Dorothea told her heated, wax splattered Emperor. 

Dorothea followed the trail laid out by the wax, kissing away the stings. She crawled over Edelgard’s body like a monster, moving ever downwards to her goal. When she achieved it, she ran her finger over Edelgard’s mound. 

"There’s no way I would ever let this come to harm,” she said. 

“Dorothea,” Edelgard whispered. It choked when Dorothea rested her mouth over the fabric. 

Edelgard called out into the quiet of the room, reaching down to clamp her hand atop Dorothea’s head. Her legs hitched, rising around Dorothea, framing her. Dorothea ran her tongue over the shape of Edelgard, pressing the smallclothes into her slit, wettening the fabric. 

When it was thoroughly drenched for her liking, she curled her fingers into the band and gently pulled them down over Edelgard’s hips. Edelgard momentarily cast in shadow as Dorothea once again went for the candle. 

Careful consideration was used when dropping the next splatters of wax. Over her thighs, tinged with red and head. Edelgard’s skin jolted and jumped, twitching out of pure reaction. A sick sort of fascination held her place, panting as she watched each drop descend. A dribble of wax slid down her inner thigh before hardening into a perfect tear. A splatter on the widest expanse. A gasp when one fell too close. 

Dorothea grinned like a cat who caught her prey. 

Wax rained over the Emperor and Dorothea ran her hands over her cunt. They slid up and down, messing with the wet and the slick. Reactions and physicality of the slow torture. Fingers curled as they probed Edelgard’s entrance, ready to slip inside. 

“Dorothea,” Edelgard panted, none of it having her commanding presence. A girl who was hungry for more. “They’ll melt.” 

Dorothea’s eyes held her with bland regard. She danced her fingers, promising silently. Another drop, another twitch, another gasp. 

“They. Will. Melt.” Edelgard tried to have authority, but still she lacked her usual vigor. 

Dorothea sighed heavily and set aside the candle. 

“Very well,” she said. “Your turn.” 

Dorothea fell back on the bed. The down comforters hushed as she dropped delicately on to them. Even in that moment full of grace. Edelgard was unaware when she had stared shaking, when she would stop, but her lover complied and so she must act. 

Dried wax made folding skin difficult to move. It was as barren as a desert, crinkling and crackling as Edelgard sat up. 

Dorothea began to work on her own buttons with all the finesse she had Edelgard’s. Nude save for the kisses of wax, Edelgard straddled her lover, grabbed her wrists, and gently guided them away. She took her responsibility of disrobing Dorothea. And if that coy smile was to be believed, Dorothea appreciated being pampered. 

One by one, in a neat row, buttons were opened and glorious delicate skin was revealed to the dimly lit room. Edelgard pushed the shirt off Dorothea and went for her skirt next. It was a simple task to shove the fabric down and leave the garment immediately disregarded at the base of the bed. Dorothea shivered, bare against the cool air. 

She would be left shivering more. 

Edelgard went for the bowl they had prepared and left next to the bed. Filled with chips of ice, already living in a pool of their own melt. It jiggled as Edelgard rested the bowl on the bed and she delicately plucked out a single shard of ice. 

Dorothea gasped, her stomach sucking in, as Edelgard ran the chilled cube serpentine across her skin. The water trail glistened, accentuating every heavy breath. Edelgard bit the corner of her lip as she slid the cube down Dorothea’s sternum, around her navel, down to the edge of her smallclothes. Where it promptly faded into nothing. 

Edelgard went for another. 

She made shapes and patterns across Dorothea’s lower abdomen, swirling it around, in on itself. When that too dissipated, Edelgard grabbed another. And another. Each cube melting on Dorothea’s heated skin. 

Just before the latest disappeared into nothing, Edelgard slipped it beneath the hem of Dorothea’s smallclothes. 

“Edie,” Dorothea whined, her hands clasped over her chest, as if in prayer. 

A handful this time, ice clinking on itself as it shifted, accommodating Edelgard as she drove her fist into the center. The cold pricked against her knuckles, stinging like the wax had but in a completely different direction. As quick as she could, Edelgard stuffed her full fist into Dorothea’s smallclothes and palmed the ice directly to her cunt. 

Dorothea’s back arched and she _sang_. A little songbird writhing underneath Edelgard. Her Emperor pushing and smearing the ice within the confines of her garments. Rubbing against her clit, pushed up and down between her lips. Once slipped inside where it promptly disappeared against her heat. Dorothea’s head whipped to the side, out of her control. 

When Edelgard had nothing more than a wet hand, she slowly retreated. She danced her fingers over the bowl, looking for just the right piece. Like a grape off the vine, she plucked the biggest one she could find, and very slowly, making sure Dorothea was watching, placed it between her lips. As graceful as a swan, Edelgard dove down to meet Dorothea’s skin. 

Tongue strength and teeth moved the rapidly melting cube as Edelgard traversed up Dorothea’s body. She pushed up the band doing a poor job of binding Dorothea’s tits, revealing pillowed undersides that yearned to be set free. Edelgard ran the ice up the flesh of her under boob, pulling at the binding, until Dorothea’s tit tumbled free. She wasted no time, swirling the ice around Dorothea’s nipple, lapping it with her tongue at each pass. 

Dorothea hissed. Her legs ground together. Her head whipped in the other direction. 

“Edie,” Dorothea whined. “Edie please.” 

Edelgard _did_ do as she pleased. Unfurling before Dorothea, she pushed Dorothea’s bindings until both breasts were flopped large and free, and went for more ice. Two cubes this time, of which she placed one on each tit, and moved them around, molding the flesh under swirling fingers. 

“Edie!” Dorothea sang. “Edie I can’t take this much longer.” 

“Good,” the wax splattered Edelgard purred. 

Freezing water dripped over the curve of Dorothea’s breasts, over her stomach, pooling in divots and at her sides. Her knees rubbed together, in one part to warm her crotch, in another to do something about the stimulation. 

“Please Edie,” she whined. “I want to taste you.” 

Edelgard had no defense against that. She recoiled, her emptied hands held up like a guard. 

“I. . .” she fumbled. 

“Get on your back,” Dorothea said. 

It was a request, not a command, but Edelgard acted accordingly. She climbed off her lover and settled her back down on the bed. Dorothea shucked the rest of her clothing and maneuvered herself into position. Straddled over Edelgard’s face, on all fours, her own head bowed before Edelgard’s revealed cunt. She dipped her head between Edelgard’s legs and slid her tongue between her lips. 

Edelgard shuddered and gasped and wilted. All things not befitting a ruler. 

Falling in line with her lover, Edelgard took Dorothea’s hips and lowered the wet cunt down to her face. She mimicked Dorothea, working her over as Dorothea did herself. Focused on the clit, sliding between lips, twitching and whimpering as Dorothea’s fingers spread her wider. 

Dorothea paused for a blessed moment, but Edelgard was far too involved with her own activities. Not until heat pricked across Edelgard’s inner thighs. 

Edeglard gasped at the sudden heat, her legs jolting closed. She looked down the natural tunnel their bodies made to see wax dripping down to her legs. Another gasp, another quick shock of air as the red splashed along her thighs. Dorothea dipped her head back down to Edelgard’s cunt to once again drink of it as the wax dried. 

Turn about was fair play. 

Edelgard went for the ice. 

Dorothea threw back her head at the first contact of cold at her lips. Between the frigid freezing and the warm mouth over her clit, the sensations were tremendous. 

“Edie!” 

As pretty as a bird. Songs from the stage. 

Edelgard moaned in pure bliss and smeared the rest of the cube just inside Dorothea’s thigh before going for another. At the loss of Dorothea’s talented tongue, Edelgard knew what was coming next and was prepared at the sting of wax. 

Dorothea swirled around her clit. Edelgard lapped around a cube just inside. Wax hit just a little too close. Edelgard grabbed Dorothea by the ass and shoved her hips down. Dorothea spread Edelgard open and tongued inside. 

And that was enough. 

Edelgard gave in first. Her cry rattled hoarse and grainy, her back arched, and she bucked against Dorothea’s face. Somewhere the candle was placed off to the side and instantly forgotten. Dorothea ate Edelgard, tonguing inside her, holding her legs open. The cube in her hand dropped to the bed, melting and wetting the sheets. Additional damp to Edelgard’s. 

The ride came to a calm end as Edelgard settled back down on the bed. Dorothea gave her clit one more flick of the tongue, just to make her Emperor dance again. A gentle kiss for another twitch. Then she could unfurl herself. A majesty before her majesty. 

She sat upright, took Edelgard by the chin, and lowered her cunt on that all too eager face. 

Edelgard’s hands clamped around ice water wet thighs, her nails dug in to leave half moon divots. Dorothea’s hips undulated, riding up and down Edelgard’s dancing tongue. 

By her soft mantra of Edelgard’s name, they both knew it wouldn’t be long. 

It was a much quieter climax. A soft note sung from the back of Dorothea’s throat. A little squeak. A twitch. No matter how much Edelgard worked her over. The only signal that she was done was when she finally released her Emperor. 

Always full of grace, Dorothea climbed off Edelgard and lay down next to her. Propped up on one arm, she swirled circles, tracing the red markings that marred Edelgard’s skin. Edelgard, face shining with Dorothea and ice, looked over. She ran a cool hand over Dorothea’s hot cheek before slowly pulling her closer and enveloping her in a tight embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	22. Ferdinand/Sylvain/Lorenz - threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am merely suggesting,” Lorenz said. “That as nobles it would only make sense to . . . fraternize with other nobles and not take such . . . _needs_ elsewhere.” 
> 
> “Makes sense,” Sylvain said. 
> 
> “ _It does!?_ ” Ferdinand retorted. 
> 
> Sylvain met his eyes and shrugged. 
> 
> “You seem opposed?” Lorenz asked with a cock of his head. 
> 
> “I. . .” Ferdinand looked between the two lords, switching back and forth repeated times. As an explanation and trying to get out just what he wanted to say, he motioned to Sylvain and scoffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  THREESOME  
> SALAD TOSSING  
> DEEP THROATING  
> SPIT ROASTING  
> GAY TOWER  
> LUCKY PIERRE  
> JUST. . . GENERAL ALL PURPOSE FILTH**
> 
> I 
> 
> DO NOT
> 
> KNOW
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED
> 
> Aren't these supposed to be little drabbles? Aren't they supposed to be quick little fills? Ffffffucking what did I doooooo??
> 
> Like so far these have been average 2.5-2.9K. Which even then thats pretty long? Maybe? 
> 
> BUT THESE CHUCKLE FUCKS. THESE LORDLY FUCK BOYS. IS 6 POINT 5 K. WHAT IN THE EVER LIVING HELL!!???!?!? 
> 
> Could I have ended it earlier than I did. YESSSSSSSS. But really I'm just greedy and wanted them to do ALL THE THINGS 
> 
> And I put Lucky Pierre up there because I learned that phrase and I think its fun.

Ferdinand looked at the man across the table, aghast. His mouth hung open and his brow furrowed tight enough to hurt. 

“Excuse me?” he asked. 

Lorenz still wore the same pleasant smile he had when the lewd proposition had spewed forth from his lips. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, one leg crossed over the other. 

“I said–” 

“I know what you said,” Ferdinand hissed, waving the man off. 

He pressed his hand to his forehead, pushing back some of his hair, and stared at the ground. A whiplash had hit him in the gut and he was reeling. How was he supposed to come up with words when hit that way? 

“Huh,” Sylvain said. 

Margrave Gautier sat next to him, looking equal amounts of surprised, but far less shocked. He recovered first, reclining in his chair, and folded his hands behind his head. 

“Huh,” he said again, more contemplative this time. “Well then. . .” 

Ferdinand glared at him, pressing the pads of his fingers into his forehead. The man couldn’t _actually_ be considering this could he? Ferdinand resumed his glare on Lorenz. 

“I am merely suggesting,” Lorenz said. “That as nobles it would only make sense to . . . fraternize with other nobles and not take such . . . _needs_ elsewhere.” 

“Makes sense,” Sylvain said. 

“ _It does!?_ ” Ferdinand retorted. 

Sylvain met his eyes and shrugged. 

“You seem opposed?” Lorenz asked with a cock of his head. 

“I. . .” Ferdinand looked between the two lords, switching back and forth repeated times. As an explanation and trying to get out just what he wanted to say, he motioned to Sylvain and scoffed. 

“Gee, thanks,” Sylvain said, clearly amused and not an ounce of offense taken. He was an old hat at receiving criticism. 

“You know what I mean,” Ferdinand hissed. 

“I do not see what the problem is,” Lorenz said. “I have had you both. And I can assure that the both of you are excellent lovers. I think it would be an a very agreeable engagement.” 

Ferdinand balked, once again staring at Lorenz, gaping mouth and catching flies. 

“Wow Lorenz,” Sylvain laughed, glancing over at Ferdinand. “You get around.” 

Ferdinand knew that Lorenz had more than one temporary lover. He had insisted on satiation before marriage and had presented a similar proposal to Ferdinand months before. He’d been open and honest about his situation and every encounter with the head of House Gloucester had been more than pleasant. They were soft and elegant, a lovely evening each and every one of them. 

He had thought Lorenz would have more. . . taste. 

Ferdinand once again scanned Sylvain side long. 

The margrave still sat with his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair, as calm as he could be. He wasn’t _un_ attractive. War had shaped him pleasingly, built him up bigger than they had been in the school. He had a warm smile that won over women and never reached steely cold eyes. He existed in a state of rakish charm that was simultaneously undignified of his station and above it all the same. 

Ferdinand’s eyes moved down thick arms, sleeves rolled up to reveal the strength in them, buttons undone to the top of his shirt to show off just the hint of a well defined chest, just the barest hint of dark red chest hair. When he realized he was staring, his eyes snapped up to meet amused amber. Sylvain grinned. Ferdinand felt the heat in his face. 

“Well,” Sylvain said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “I’m in.” 

“W-what?” Ferdinand sputtered. 

“Yeah I mean, come on.” Sylvain stood up. “I’m hot, you’re hot, we _both_ know he’s a cutie.” 

Lorenz, pleased as he could be, flushed at the compliment. 

“So why not? What's to lose?” 

“Dignity,” Ferdinand spat. 

Sylvain snorted a laugh. He reached a hand out to Lorenz and helped him to standing. The gentle lord took it and let Sylvain drag him to his feet. 

“Well in any case,” Sylvain said, pulling Lorenz flush against his body. “I can have you.” 

“Sylvai–” Lorenz went to protest, but was swiftly cut off. 

Sylvain gently cupped Lorenz’s cheek and pressed his lips against the lord’s. Lorenz’s insistence was muffled against the kiss, but he quickly gave in. He might have been taller, but in Sylvain’s arms he melted. The kiss might have been a romance, all sweeping holds and tender touches. The way Sylvain’s hand cupped the back of Lorenz’s head, the way his fingers splayed on the small of his back, the slight bend as Sylvain dipped him just an inch. Lorenz moaned and wrapped his arms up around Sylvain’s shoulders, allowing the big man to take him where he wanted. 

It was terrible. It was terribly attractive. 

Ferdinand was helpless but to sit there and watch the two. He bristled, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. 

A single eye opened and amber burned into Ferdinand. From the way his lips curled in that kiss, the smile with a secret, Sylvain knew. He knew what they looked like. He knew his effect. 

In a quiet dance, Sylvain turned, showing off Lorenz’s tantalizing back. Ferdinand knew it well, knew the dimples at the dip, the curve of his spine, the single mole just beneath his shoulder blade. Big possessive hands ran over all those secrets, pushing and pulling at the cloth of Lorenz’s jacket, and sliding over the slight rise of Lorenz’s ass. 

And squeezed. 

The noise that came from the lord was sin incarnate. 

Ferdinand huffed. 

It was obscene. The way Sylvain’s mouth moved. How every shift of lips revealed a tongue that pressed inside Lorenz. How expert it was at making Lorenz succumb. 

An assault. 

Sylvain finally pulled back, letting them part, his attention once again fully on the man in his arms. He stroked his cheek, his eyes soft and smoldering. A perfect gentleman, a perfect lover. 

“Thats my good slut,” he uttered. 

That was it. 

“Enough,” Ferdinand insisted, standing to his feet. 

Amusement graced Sylvain’s face and once again Ferdinand captured his attention. Lorenz looked over his shoulder. The way his hair caught and cascaded far too enticing. Despite the curious expression, a hunger lingered in his eyes, one Ferdinand had never beheld. 

“He is _not_ a _slut_ ,” Ferdinand said. 

Sylvain’s brows shot up. That insufferable amused smile roiled Ferdinand’s blood. 

“Its quite alright,” Lorenz said. “This is just how we talk when intimate.” 

Ferdinand’s eyes darted from Gloucester to Gautier and back again. His hands balled into tight fists. 

“I can always accommodate,” Sylvain said, voice oozing with almost sincerity. “If you show me how.” 

That big hand gave Lorenz’s ass one last lingering squeeze before Sylvain nudged him forward, handing him off as if he were a toy to be shared. As if he were some _thing_. It went against all of Ferdinand’s previous encounters with the man, the intimacy they shared sullied by this _imposter_. 

But Lorenz left Sylvain’s embrace, a familiar smile gracing his features, and ran long fingers over Ferdinand’s jaw. Familiarity in his touch. An easy task that Ferdinand could simply slip into. 

As they always hand, Ferdinand rested his hand on Lorenz’s cheek and his lips against the others. 

He tasted different. He tasted of Sylvain. Somehow Ferdinand knew that. He knew that was preposterous, that his roiling mind was feeding him falsehoods backed by ire. But also, somehow, he was right. 

So drastic was the difference between Sylvain’s kiss and his. The way Lorenz melted in his arms was sweet, consensual. Not wooed over and dominated. He held Ferdinand delicately, intimately, not the fierce grip he did Sylvain. Not the possessive touches or the fervent passion. 

Ferdinand’s brow twitched and he pushed down what was most definitely _not_ jealousy. 

Ferdinand’s hands trailed tight down Lorenz’s back. Fine fabrics pulled under his touch. Fingers traced over the curve of Lorenz’s spine, into the small of his back. Ferdinand couldn’t quite bring himself to go where Sylvain had no issues. Instead, he breathed in Lorenz’s air, cupped his face, and leaned in for more. 

“Oh that is nice.” 

Sylvain’s voice was a practical purr. His arms interrupted them, sliding in around Lorenz. His body pressed against Fredinand’s hand, trapping it on Lorenz’s back. He leaned in close enough that Ferdinand could feel his breath against his cheek. 

Without breaking the kiss, Ferdinand threw the ginger lord a glare. 

Sylvain’s grin only grew. He bowed his head, pulling at Lorenz’s collar. 

“Just beauty then,” he murmured against pale skin and placed a chaste kiss. He was mimicking them, joining their flow. “You are beautiful.” 

Lorenz gasped, a sharp ragged thing, tensing in Ferdinand’s arms. As if the word itself sharpened through his soul. A finer edge than ‘slut’ could ever be. 

Focus was gone from Ferdinand. The show of Sylvain’s gentle kisses, the shiver of Lorenz, the ache in his pants. Lorenz, open mouth and wanting, panting against Ferdinand’s tongue, a new flavor from the man. All brought out by the one interruption to humanity Sylvain Jose Gautier. 

Eyes focused and boring into Ferdinand, Sylvain lined his mouth to Lorenz’s ear. 

“Want to show him how beautiful you can be?” he whispered, words Ferdinand felt to his very core. 

With very little coaxing, Lorenz slid down to his knees. The shield effectively out of the way, Ferdinand was face to face with an insufferably smug Sylvain. And it was becoming increasingly hard to maintain his ire with Lorenz’s hands making quick work of his belt. 

Ferdinand couldn’t look at Sylvain anymore and turned his eyes to the man at his feet. Just in time to see his cock pulled free. 

Their dance was always typical. Smooth with memorized steps, repeated time and time again. Sweet kisses would meld into a gentle caress here, a soft word there, until they fell to the bed in a heap of tangled limbs. Never something so crass as kneeling subservient at Ferdinand’s feet. 

Any question left the room when Lorenz’s lips wrapped around his dick. 

Ferdinand gasped shakily and ran his hand through fine strands of silken hair. The asymmetrical cut flowed fetching over Lorenz’s shoulder, eyes looking large and wide as they stared up through long lashes. Mouth stuffed full with Ferdinand’s cock, cheeks hollowed as he slowly pumped his head up and down the shaft. A talented tongue curled around his dick, swirling in Lorenz’s mouth, pressing hard against the underside. Ferdinand closed his eyes, his head rolling back with them, and groaned. 

When they reopened, he was greeted to another one of Sylvain’s knowing smirks. 

Excited and biting his lip, Sylvain inspected the show between them. Then inexplicably, lowered himself to the ground. 

Two beautiful men before him and Ferdinand suddenly understood Sylvain’s approach. 

“Thats a good job,” Sylvain hushed. “Suck him off nice and good.” 

Sylvain placed a big hand around the back of Lorenz’s head, palming it with a commanding grip. At first, he nudged, simply moved with Lorenz’s natural bob. But quickly the control shifted to Sylvain. He pushed, urging every trip down Ferdinand’s cock to go deeper and deeper. When Lorenz finally fit the entirety of his shaft deep into his mouth, forced in place by Sylvain’s hand, they stopped. Sylvain held him in place, forcing that mouth wider. He did not let up, not even when Lorenz gagged and coughed around Ferdinand’s dick. 

“Lorenz,” Ferdinand gasped, worry laced in his breath. 

But Lorenz only looked up, his eyes still wide from that point, wet at the corners and almost disappeared over the curve of Ferdinand’s chest. Another deep throated gag as his tongue moved and tried to swallow around Ferdinand’s dick. 

Not knowing what to do with his hands, Ferdinand curled them into tight fists.

“There you go,” Sylvain whispered. His fingers deep in Lorenz’s hair, shaking his head against Ferdinand’s abdomen. “Take it.” 

Lorenz hummed, the sound of it comfortable and pleased to be so filled. His eyes fluttered closed, his breathing steady and even. 

Not moving his eyes off Ferdinand, Sylvain leaned in close to Lorenz’s ear. 

“Beautiful boy,” he whispered.

Ferdinand couldn’t take it anymore. His hand dropped to Lorenz’s head, fingers curling around Sylvain’s. Neither pushing nor pulling, only joining them. Pure joy raked over Lorenz, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, lids fluttering to reveal whites. 

Sylvain let up, letting go of Lorenz’s head, and letting Ferdinand keep his place there. Lorenz didn’t even stop for air. He kept working him over, eyes closed in absolute bliss, all the while Sylvain’s stare did not waver. Not as he leaned closer, not as his tongue lolled out, his mouth open and inviting. He leaned in to interrupt Lorenz, the flat of his tongue meeting the side of Ferdinand’s dick. 

A suck in of air split the sticky wet sounds of Lorenz’s work, a deep tension that coiled within Ferdinand. The sheer power of Lorenz’s lips slipped over Sylvain’s tongue in the world’s sloppiest and filled kiss. Without being told, Lorenz moved. The air of the room chilled over Ferdinand’s overly worshipped cock as Lorenz tilted his head, taking responsibilities opposite Sylvain. They slid up and down the skin, mouths open and tongues sliding up and down, kissing one another around the lance in their mouths. 

Ferdinand whimpered. 

That was enough to garner Sylvain’s full attention. He balanced himself, resting a hand on the scant bare skin exposed at Ferdinand’s hip. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t want this,” he said. 

All Ferdinand could do was whimper. He tried to maintain a frown, his lips pulled down in a deep scowl and his brows pinched together. But from the way his lip quivered, he knew there was no power behind it. 

Sylvain scoffed. 

“Not even a little?” he said, shifting around Ferdinand, sliding his hand deeper into his pants, urging the fabric lower on his hips. 

“What are you. . .?” Ferdinand asked. 

He knew soon enough. 

That big hand, the one that encapsulated Lorenz’s head, rested full on the bare skin of Ferdinand’s ass. A full grip, squeezing plush skin to his delight. Toying with it, molding it, opening it. Just wide enough to press a thick fat tongue against his hole. 

Ferdinand’s hand whipped out and grabbed Sylvain by the hair. 

“Ah!” he called out, his head thrown by but by no means trying to move away. The jolt of hips fucked into Lorenz’s mouth and was rewarded with another one of those delicious gags. 

The noise of pure pleasure oozed from Sylvain as his tongue got to work, lapping and undulating against Ferdinand’s wanting hole. Ferdinand’s fingers tightened in Sylvain’s hair, in Lorenz’s, as the working mouths fucked against him. Sylvain pressed in and in, circled him, questioned a probe. Lorenz moved deeper and deeper, this time without the aid of a hand pushing him down. 

Coy hands slid up to Ferdinand’s hips, bracing the men on either side, feeling the shape of him. They met and fingers interlocked, far more romantic than Ferdinand thought possible. 

Ferdinand forfeited. 

“Alright,” he gasped for air. “I want this.” 

The sin in Sylvain’s chuckle danced in Ferdinand’s ears. 

“Its about time.” 

Teeth nipped at the extra flesh of his ass before Sylvain rose to his feet, a looming presence behind Ferdinand that made his skin itch with the need to be touched. 

Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and a chin rested in the crook of his neck. 

“Look how pretty he is,” Sylvain uttered in his ear. 

Ferdinand could look nowhere else. 

Lorenz didn’t even pause, like he knew this was going to happen, that it was just a matter of time before Ferdinand conceded. The gentle hand moved with the workman like bob of Lorenz’s head, completely focused on one thing and only one thing. Getting Ferdinand off. Such diligence and devotion warmed Ferdinand in more than just his heart. 

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“I want to fuck him.” Sylvain’s lips moved across Ferdinand’s neck. “Do you want me to fuck him?” 

Lorenz faltered, looking up at the two men he had invited, clearly wanting. Ferdinand cocked his head, giving Sylvain more to play with. More to tongue and taste and nip. He wrapped a hand around the back of Sylvain’s head.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Fuck him.” 

That silver tongued mouth regrettably moved away, smiling as he did, but he had to. Sylvain moved around Ferdinand, letting his fingers trail across his shoulders, down his arm, and to Lorenz’s cheek. 

“Hey pretty boy,” he said. “Did you bring oil?” 

Lorenz finally pulled of Ferdinand’s dick and Ferdinand whined at the loss, patting his hand down Lorenz’s hair. A fine trail of drool and precum connected dick to tongue for just a second until it broke. He caught his breath and clicked his jaw, sure signals of a hard worker, and dug into his pocket. Without a word, still panting, he handed a small vial up to Sylvain. Sylvain mussed his hair. 

“Good,” he said and glanced to Ferdinand. A secret shared between the two of them. A warm spot they had both shared. 

Sylvain went to work on Lorenz’s pants, fiercely tugging them down and revealing slim pale hips. He slicked up his fingers with oil, smearing the slick over Lorenz’s hole. 

Lorenz held onto the base of Ferdinand’s cock and leaned in for more. 

“Wait,” Ferdinand said, holding back his head. 

Sylvain had dominated Ferdinand’s attention. A driving force that had bombarded his ire and riled him up. He had completely neglected his occasional lover. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Lorenz smiled up at Ferdinand, lopsided and pleasure drugged, his eyes blinking one at a time. 

“Perfect.” The word dropped into a heavy moan as Sylvain slipped a finger into his ass. 

From the way Lorenz’s back arched to the smug smile on Sylvain’s face to the sound that reverberated around the room, Ferdinand’s priorities shifted back to his cock. When Lorenz’s head rolled back to forward, he panted and dove for Ferdinand’s cock. His slobbering worship picked up the same pace and Sylvain’s probing finger. 

Sylvain hummed happily, fingering Lorenz with mild curiosity. He slowed to carefully slip in a second, pushing this agenda forward. By the time he slipped in three, Lorenz was visibly shaking. The little moans and groans around Ferdinand’s cock was positively delicious. This level of subservience was never something Ferdinand had ever expected from the man. He stroked his hand over Lorenz’s carefully styled hair, petting him as he would a prized animal. Lorenz looked up to Ferdinand, eyes pleading and hungry. 

Sylvain bit his lip in determination and began pounding his fingers in and out of Lorenz with purpose. His ass _schlick_ ed obscenely, skin jiggling with the vibration, Sylvain’s knuckled hitting his flesh over and over again. 

Mouth stuffed and desperate, Lorenz moaned long and loud, muffled by Ferdinand’s dick. He could no longer move, only holding the cock in his mouth. Brows pinched, eyes closed, and both hands clinging to Ferdinand’s hips. 

Hand still gentle on Lorenz’s head, more out of pity, Ferdinand glared at Sylvain. 

“Stop torturing the man and fuck him already,” he snapped. 

Sylvain laughed. At least he stopped. He was slow to extract his fingers and shook them out. 

“Alright alright,” he said and shucked his jacket from his shoulders. 

He was quick to remove his shirt, leaving him bare chested and a glorious feast for the eyes. He may have been irritating but at least he was gorgeous. 

Ferdinand didn’t need to stare. His attention went back to Lorenz, stroking his hair with a little less finesse. He was shaking. 

He was close. 

Lorenz pulled off to give himself a break, raising Ferdinand’s dick to lap at the underside, to worship every inch of it. Eyes crossed as he tried to keep it in his sights. 

Tongue out, mouth wide, Lorenz moaned again. He shook, eyes rolling back. A wanton exaggerated song that Ferdinand had heard many times before. Sylvain’s little chuckle harmonized with it as he slid into the tight heat of Lorenz’s ass. 

Lorenz’s lips tightened around Ferdinand’s cock as Sylvain bottomed out. 

The heat built. 

Lorenz pulled and sucked and tried to focus on his task as Sylvain’s first, rough thrust rocked the man’s whole body. 

Muscles strained. 

Lorenz’s tongue swirled. Sylvain thrust again. 

“Ah!” Ferdinand called out, gripping Lorenz’s hair a little too tight. 

Cum spurt into the back of Lorenz’s throat, surprising him. Lorenz’s eyes snapped wide and he made a muffled sound of shock, but before he could go anywhere, Sylvain leaned over his body and pushed his head back down on Ferdinand’s cock. All the while Sylvain picked up speed and fucked the man between them, bent his back, folded him, as he swallowed what Ferdinand spilled. 

Ferdinand moaned and rocked his hips involuntarily against the wet warmth around his dick. He forgot himself, his manners, who he was with, and just used the hole he was in. His hand clawed and fisted fine locks, yanking Lorenz’s head to twist and tilt around his cock. 

And when it all was over, Ferdinand let out a shaking sigh and took a shaking step back. His knees hit the edge of the chaise longue and he flopped back on it, sitting in a daze. 

Before him, Lorenz rocked back and forth in time with the rhythm of Sylvain’s thrusts. His face was flush and his mouth wet and stick, hanging open as he stared at Ferdinand. His eyes were clouded and hazed and wet at the corners. Some of his hair stuck up in unflattering angles. Drool dribbled down his chin and cum splattered across his lip. 

Mussed and messed because of what Ferdinand had done to him. 

“Seems someone lacks _control_ ,” Sylvain said and harshly thrust his hips as punctuation, skin slapping against skin. 

Ferdinand had just enough energy to give Sylvain a dull glare. 

“You cannot blame me,” he said, still gasping for air. 

“No,” Sylvain said and draped his body over Lorenz’s, wrapping him in a possessive hug. “I suppose not.” 

He rolled his hips, flowing into Lorenz, making the already worn out man flop bonelessly in his arms. He held onto Sylvain’s arm, less for support and more for something to ground him to this plane of existence. The sight of it alone stirred a heat within Ferdinand and he sighed long and heavy. 

Sylvain noticed. Of course he noticed. 

“Wanna go again?” 

Ferdinand took in the show. The way Sylvain’s lip trailed as he obscenely placed a kiss to Lorenz’s jacket. The bare expanse of his back. The way his pants sat low on his hips, falling with every thrust. Lorenz’s delicate neck as his head fell, hiding his face behind a cascade of hair. 

Lazily, Ferdinand met Sylvain’s eyes. 

“I would need time,” he said. 

“Time we can give you,” Sylvain said. 

He unfurled his body, making a majestic show of it, like some great tree rising from the earth. His hands dug into Lorenz’s hips, gave one more hard thrust, and then a solid smack. Lorenz made a small indignant noise, rocked forward, and glared at Sylvain over his shoulder. 

“Rude,” he said. 

“You like it,” Sylvain sang back. 

Lorenz huffed. 

“Get undressed for Ferdie.” 

Lorenz’s attention moved back to Ferdinand. All annoyance for Sylvain washed away leaving only the open expression and mussed face. His shirt was already rumpled and sliding off to the side, revealing a beautifully jutting collar bone. His pants having been pulled down to his knees, tangling his legs, bare and pale and shaped in just the way Ferdinand liked him. 

Ferdinand took it all in and placed a hand over his spent cock. It ached and pulsated from having just come. 

Lorenz did as he was told. 

Slowly, one by one, he plucked the buttons of his shirt. It fell open, revealing more and more of a lean chest. Ferdinand could have just watched, enjoyed more of the display, but he took Lorenz by the wrist, pulled him closer, and took over for him. Just as careful as Lorenz had been, he finished unbuttoning his shirt, pushed off his jacket, ran his hands over well maintained skin. 

It was a simple lean forward and Lorenz read his mind, meeting him in a soft kiss. They moved against one another, Lorenz pulling at the laces of his boots and stepping out of his pants, a stark contrast from the ludicrous display Sylvain put on. 

Sylvain’s large presence appeared behind Lorenz and gently nudged him forward. With nowhere else to go and without breaking their sweet kiss, Lorenz climbed up into Ferdinand’s lap. A long leg on either side of Ferdinand, naked and lanky, and sweetly moaning into his mouth. The taste of his own spunk salted on Lorenz’s tongue. Ferdinand’s hands slid up his bare back, hands wide and splayed to touch as much as he could. His hands became trapped as Sylvain moved in. 

Lorenz gasped, his mouth going wide against Ferdinand’s, as once again Sylvain pushed his dick into him. Ferdinand watched, his eyes only on Lorenz’s sweet agony. He could feel his eyes heavy as he inspected his sometimes lover, his heart fluttering with fondness. Like they were the only two there. 

Sylvain thrust and only managed to slightly break the spell. Ferdinand’s hands framed Lorenz’s face and he leaned in to kiss Lorenz again, painfully gentle. A stark contrast to the violence from behind. 

It was working. Having the beautiful nude man in his lap, writhing as he got fucked, kissing him the way Ferdinand wanted to be kissed, it stirred a taut heat deep within him. 

Ferdinand slid his hand to the back of Lorenz’s neck, fingers carding through his ruined hair. As Sylvain kept going and going, Lorenz began to lose himself. His kisses grew sloppy, unfocused. Ferdinand gave him a reprieve. 

He moved his mouth over Lorenz’s cheek, down his jaw, pressing butterfly kisses all the way to his neck. He nipped at Lorenz, gently sucked out bruises, kissing him more and more as Lorenz’s neck bent. 

Ferdinand opened his eyes and looked to Sylvain. 

The man was struggling. Or at least Ferdinand hoped he was. How could he keep going this long otherwise? His brow furrowed staring solely down at Lorenz’s back, at his ass, at the hands digging into his hips. He panted, trying to catch his breath. 

Ferdinand smiled against Lorenz’s neck and dragged his teeth over the skin. 

Sylvain reached away and went for the little bottle of oil. He popped it open and made a mess of himself spilling more over his fingers. Ferdinand observed him questioningly, but it all made sense when Sylvain wrapped a hand around himself. Consternation and concentration masked his face. He bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, focusing on what he could only feel. 

“What are you doing?” Ferdinand asked. 

Sylvain’s eyes shot down to him. His smile returning to a feral show. 

“What do you think?” he panted as he fingered himself. 

And Ferdinand knew just what was going in there. 

With Sylvain stopped, Lorenz could regain his faculties and a long fingered hand ran over Ferdinand’s spent dick, already filling with interest anew. 

Ferdinand couldn’t react. He didn’t gasp or gently coo as he would at any other point. A sneer twitched at the corner of his face, staring down the insufferable grin that was aimed at him. 

Fuck it. 

Ferdinand grabbed Sylvain by the back of the neck, yanked him over Lorenz’s body, and violently pressed his lips to the big man’s horrible grin. Teeth clinked and Sylvain _laughed_ , of course he did, but the kiss shifted. Sylvain met him, conceding and pliant to Ferdinand’s forceful tongue. Letting the other man taste him, feeling in places he’d never been before, _violate him_ to the best of his ability. Bombard him with all the offense Sylvain brought to the table. And Sylvain just let him. 

It wasn’t long before Lorenz’s hand brought Ferdinand’s dick back to attention. 

Lorenz wheezed, pressed between the two men, and it was only polite to let him breathe again. Ferdinand flopped back on the chaise longue, but still maintained that death grip on Sylvain’s thick neck. He could feel eyes on him and brought his attention back to Lorenz. He was staring, smiling, enthralled. Enjoying his own private show. 

The kiss hadn’t done anything to quell Sylvain’s arrogance. His shoulder moved in time with his fingers, preparing himself for Ferdinand. 

One last moan, one last finger, and he shook his hand out. 

“Take your pants off,” Sylvain said. 

“They’re already off,” Lorenz panted. 

Sylvain laughed and pressed a soft kiss to Lorenz’s cheek. 

“Not you sweet thing.” 

Lorenz cooed at the pet name. 

“Come on.” Sylvain pulled out and tapped Lorenz twice. “Get up.” 

Lorenz was slow to climb off the couch, his legs shaking. Sylvain had to help prop him up less he might fall. He balanced in Sylvain’s arms and the two of them shared a brief look. Something quiet and sweet and almost romantic. Something for Ferdinand to jerk off to. Without looking away, he kicked his pants off, shoving them over his boots, not even bothering with those. Unblinking and determined and pumping himself to stiff. 

At least Sylvain appreciated it. 

When Lorenz could stand of his own power, Sylvain sauntered to Ferdinand and stood between his legs. 

“Well?” Ferdinand asked, not stopping his hand. A clear challenge. 

Sylvain smirked and turned. Carefully, leaned back, propping himself up with one hand against Ferdinand’s thigh, opening his ass with the other. Ferdinand got the picture and aimed his dick for a prepped and wanting hole. 

He slid in. Easy as that. 

Ferdinand didn’t want Sylvain to know, but he groaned regardless. How was he still so tight? He pressed his head to Sylvain’s back and the big man puffed out a breathless laugh. He leaned back against Ferdinand’s chest, pushing them both against the couch. They sat like that, simply catching their breath. 

“Fuck Ferdinand,” Sylvain said. “You’ve been holding out on me.” 

Ferdinand grumbled and wrapped an arm around Sylvain, out of pure reaction. Sylvain’s hand on top of his was a surprise. Far too intimate for what the man had proven himself to be. 

“Okay,” Sylvain said, still gulping down breaths. He pat Ferdinand’s hand twice. “Scooch down.” 

Ferdinand gave Sylvain an incredulous stare, but it only got as far as the back of his neck. He did as he was told, sliding his body down the couch and spreading his legs wide. Sylvain wriggled with him, his own legs spread just inside Ferdinand’s and propped up under his own power. He pat his lap in a quick drumbeat. 

“Come here, Lorenz,” he sang. 

The still fuck addled man swayed in place, the command not fully settled in. Ferdinand was quicker to realize Sylvain’s plans and squeezed him tighter. The weight alone scaring his dick. But Lorenz blinked slowly and the effect of it was intensely endearing.

“What?” he asked. 

“Come. Here.” Sylvain crooked his finger. 

Dream like, Lorenz shuffled over. Sylvain took him by the hips, slowly spun him in place, and eased the man back onto his dick. A slow moan like a melancholic ghost left Lorenz as he was once again filled. 

Sylvain positioned Lorenz like a doll, lifting his spindly long legs to support himself against the cushions. Just as Ferdinand feared, the combined weight of the two men was heavy against his body, but Sylvain strained to keep as much of his body propped up as possible. The sheer physical exertion of that particular acrobatics was evident in his breath, between clenched teeth and shaking muscle. He grabbed Lorenz by the hips. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

Lorenz was flopped and boneless at the top, his head lolling. 

“Do I have a choice?” he asked. 

Sylvain lifted the man and fucked him back down against his dick. The big body in his lap rocked Ferdinand, a squeeze that hugged his dick, pressed against his body. A thick blanket of sweat and lust. 

Sylvain grunted and rocked Lorenz on his dick again. And again. It was slow moving, a great effort of strength, but the knight who had overpowered so many was determined to prove something. 

The huffs and high pitched moans from Lorenz were a new and different song each time he was shoved back onto Sylvain’s dick. Ferdinand could barely breathe. 

“Jerk yourself for me,” Sylvain strained through each drop. “Pretty. Boy.”

Lorenz could barely raise a shaking hand while keeping balance, but he managed to get it around his cock. He cried at the first bit of attention to his dick and began pumping it with vigor. 

Sylvain’s arms shook and Ferdinand watched with fascination at the skin shiver and ripple. 

“Fuck,” Sylvain groaned. 

A feral hunger that Ferdinand could _feel_ pulsated through Sylvain. His want evident in every thrust. And Ferdinand saw the moment his patience gave out on his stupid idea. 

Sylvain propped one foot up on the couch, where he had space, grabbed Lorenz fiercely by the hip with only one hand, and braced himself with the other. Rather than fucking the man down on his dick, he began to fuck up into him, bouncing him on his lap. And by consequence, back onto Ferdinand. 

Ferdinand whined and grabbed the chaise longue, all he could do to hold on. He lay draped in their shadow, watching as Sylvain undulated up into Lorenz, watching Lorenz propped up on display in Sylvain’s lap, watching his arm move in rapid succession as he chased his orgasm. 

Watching Sylvain’s face. 

His eyes were closed, his head thrown back, his mouth open and panting. For the first time that afternoon, he had no stupid grin, no annoying smile, no biting remark. It might have been bliss, but there was something else there. The way his brow pressed together, the vein in his temple pulsated. 

He was in another place, devoid of them, that only could only achieve with the most powerful form of fucking. 

And it dawned on Ferdinand just what Sylvain had been doing. How much work he had put in that afternoon to straddle the wants and needs of Lorenz and Ferdinand, to accommodate them into a place of security. 

How much he did. 

For them. 

Lorenz cried out and came. His legs spasmed and he would have fallen off the couch had Sylvain not caught him. They fell back against Ferdinand and the weight of two massive men against his chest knocked the air out of him. His arms flailed and scrambled to once again hold them, hug them, pull them close and try to keep them up. He couldn’t tell who he was holding on to. All he knew was that someone was shaking. 

Was it him? 

The three of them breathed, their pants the only sounds in the room. Heat pushed against Ferdinand’s muscles, aching from the strain of it. 

It all broke when Sylvain laughed. 

“There,” he said, kissing a deflated Lorenz on the cheek. “Is that what you wanted?” 

At the question, Ferdinand knew what he could give. 

“Mmm, maybe,” Lorenz hummed in sweet delight.

The two men weighing Ferdinand down fell into a blissful moment, forgetting who or what they were laying on. It was sweet, just as Ferdinand had wanted. 

But not Sylvain. 

“Lorenz,” Ferdinand wheezed. “Could you get off please?” 

“Huh? Oh yes, right,” Lorenz said. 

It was slow moving, his legs shaking worse than before, but he managed to amble off Sylvain’s lap, staggering. Sylvain moved, maybe to stand, maybe to catch him, but Ferdinand didn’t give him the chance. 

With what last remaining strength he had, he bodily threw Sylvain into the cushions, flipping him over to his back. Be it the exhaustion from their acrobatics, be it the element of surprise, or maybe, just maybe, Sylvain went with it because it was exactly what he wanted. Ferdinand didn’t give Sylvain time to react, spread his legs, and shoved himself inside. 

Sylvain’s head reared back, hitting the arm rest and revealing the surprisingly gorgeous detail of the underside of his chin. He called out, his voice hoarse and rasping. Ferdinand barely gave him that before violently fucking into him, using him, beating against him. Ferdinand could barely feel his body anymore and only truly knew his pace by the way Sylvain bounced up and down the couch. 

“There you go,” Ferdinand cooed. “Its all you now.” 

“Oh fuck,” Sylvain whined. “Fuck!” 

Ferdinand snarled and thrust his hips hard enough to click Sylvain’s teeth. 

Up and down the couch they slid, an amalgamation of stink and pants and groans and pain.

Ferdinand’s skin prickled with the feel of eyes on him. Without letting up, he looked to find Lorenz staring. He’d pulled a chair over and was plonked down in it, his chin resting in his hands. Mouth red and puffy and still stained with Ferdinand, messed up from his own orgasm, exhaustion evident over his whole being, but he smiled sweet and content, taking in every last detail of their fucking. 

A dangerous smile twitched at the corner of Ferdinand’s lips. He focused on the fuck boy beneath him, grabbed Sylvain by the wrist, and dropped his hand a little too hard on his own cock. Sylvain cried out, but got the picture, and immediately began jerking himself off. 

“Thats it,” Ferdinand said, back reared up and hovering proud over Sylvain. “Thats it. Only you here.” 

“Fffffuck,” Sylvain spat. 

Ferdinand leaned in, gripping the arm of the chaise longue, his hair falling over Sylvain like a curtain. He stared unblinking at the desperate man beneath him, savoring every last detail, and slowly rolled his hips against the plush ass. 

“I’m going to cum inside you,” he whispered. “I’m going to fill _you_ up. Just for you.” 

Sylvain whined, his arm moving hard over an over used, purpled cock, ready for the words Ferdinand fed him. 

“Are you ready for that?” 

Sylvain nodded furiously, no longer able to even speak. 

Ferdinand wouldn’t last much longer. 

Once more. Another thrust. And Ferdinand was done. 

All noise choked in his throat. He bowed his head and came. The second coming far more painful than the first, milked by Sylvain who, even in his own self indulgence, tried so hard to be _good_ for his partner. That ass still moved against Ferdinand, urging Ferdinand even to discomfort. 

Through the haze, Ferdinand heard Sylvain shout, heard his head thunk against the arm rest. And when Ferdinand could no longer keep himself up, he felt the hot wet sticky mess press against his own chest. 

They lay in a heap, two animals made of limbs and deflation. Spent and exhausted and without the energy to merely breathe. 

Still trying so hard, a shaking hand reached up to embrace him, wrapping around Ferdinand’s back and holding him secure. Ferdinand nuzzled into Sylvain’s neck and brushed a hand through his hair, returning the tenderness. 

One of those big warm hands slid off Ferdinand's back and reached out. On reaction after years of training, Lorenz politely took Sylvain's hand. He was urged closer and slid to his knees next to the heap of them. Sylvain ran a hand down Lorenz's face, tucking long hair behind a delicate ear.

"Will that. . ." Sylvain said between heavy breaths. "Do?"

Lorenz smiled and leaned into Sylvain's palm. He reached out to brush aside Ferdinand's hair before leaving forward to drape his body over theirs, wrapping his arms protectively around both of his new lovers. 

“Yes,” he said, hushed, afraid to break the moment. “Thank you. That is all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain gets spoiled as fuck this kinktober. Its what he deserves. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	23. Caspar/Raphael - edging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Another round?” Caspar asked, bouncing from foot to foot. He rolled his head and his neck cracked. 
> 
> “Uh.” Raphael stood awkwardly in the middle of the ring. Just as awkward, he adjusted the front of his pants. A clear tent was starting to pitch. “I think I need a moment.” 
> 
> Caspar stilled. 
> 
> “Oh,” he said, a little disappointed. “Again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  EDGEPLAY  
> TIT FUCKING**
> 
> Boy oh boy do I love these rough and rowdy boys. They're so wonderful. 
> 
> And I feel like the set up to this one is AMAZINGLY STUUUUPID. But it seemed to fit them? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sweat stank up the training grounds. Grunts echoed off the walls. The sound of feet hitting the floor and flesh smacking against muscle prevalent in the dim of night.

Caspar stood in a lock with Raphael. Their hands were interlocked, the two grapplers straining against one another. It was a testament to Caspar’s strength that he could keep up and hold the big man at bay. Raphael strained and with a great heave shoved Caspar back an inch. His bare feet dug into the ground, leaving behind trails as he was pushed backwards. 

Raphael’s face was contorted for battle. A fearsome expression better suited for a monster. To see that ox of a man with a snarl ready for blood would be enough to shake the hardened warrior to the core. 

Such expressions were ill suited on Caspar. Of a much slighter frame, he was hardly a threatening force in the same way as Raphael. But the bloodthirst in his eyes, the feral nature of his grin, how he would simply _come_ at an enemy, it had much of the same effect. 

Caspar smiled such a smile at Raphael. 

He immediately dropped the hold and Raphael went stumbling forward. Using momentum and the difference in height, Caspar barrelled forward and wrapped his arms around Raphael’s midsection. He ran through the tackle, hooking his ankle in Raphael’s, and further unbalancing the tall oak of a man.

He went down. 

Raphael landed in the hay chin first, his teeth clacking audibly. Caspar was quick to move on the big man’s back, wrenching his arm behind him. He pushed down once. 

“My point!” he shouted. 

Raphael laughed, that fearsome glare disappeared. A full throated hearty thing that brought joy to everyone around him.

“Alright alright I yield,” he said. 

Caspar huffed out a victorious laugh of his own and pressed down once more. Just for effect. He clambered off the big man and extended a hand to help him up. Raphael gratefully took it. 

“Another round?” Caspar asked, bouncing from foot to foot. He rolled his head and his neck cracked. 

“Uh.” Raphael stood awkwardly in the middle of the ring. Just as awkward, he adjusted the front of his pants. A clear tent was starting to pitch. “I think I need a moment.” 

Caspar stilled. 

“Oh,” he said, a little disappointed. “Again?” 

This wasn’t the first time. It was perfectly natural. With all the heat and exertion, grappling really got the blood pumping. And without the fear of battle, it was easy to get complacent in such a safe setting. Scrambling around with another warm human body and it was no wonder that time from time the body got aroused. Caspar knew that. It’d happened to him after all. 

“You too it seems,” Raphael said. 

Caspar looked down. He was dressed in only lightweight linen pants, sturdy enough for sparing, but nowhere thick enough to hide his own reaction. With adrenaline dying down and his hearing coming back over the blood pumping in his ears, Caspar’s awareness of his own body returned. He felt the oncoming strain of a very interested erection. And at his attention it twitched, making his pants dance. 

“Huh,” Caspar said to his own dick. 

“Wanna take five?” Raphael asked. 

“Just five?” Caspar challenged. 

“Ten then,” Raphael said, already walking to the lonely deserted corner of the training ground. That late at night no one but the insects were around. No one but them, the rowdy men who insisted on training as long as possible. 

“Ha,” Caspar barked. He yanked on the strings of his pants. “Bet you I can go longer than you can.” 

“You’re on!” 

Raphael sat heavy on the step, leaning up against one of the practice dummies. Caspar took a spot across from him, his pants already edging down to his knees. He dropped back on his ass and watched with mild interest as Raphael slipped his cock from the band of his own linens. A tongue ran over his lips, watching Raphael start. 

But he didn’t. 

“No cheating,” he said. 

“Oh right,” Caspar said and shoved his hand down his pants. He began jerking at himself, his fist hitting his pants, and almost missed that Raphael hadn’t started up again. Caspar rolled his eyes. “Fine fine.”

And he whipped his dick out. 

Satisfied that they were on an even playing field, Raphael nodded professionally and continued. 

The competition wasn’t anything new. The first time one of them had popped a boner, probably Caspar, it had been awkward, but handled and they went right back to grappling. When they both reacted, they had gone off to their own corners. The little competition had just been a natural extension of long nights together. The attempts to make the other lose was an extension of that. 

Raphael was weaker in the art of seduction. Not that Caspar was some sort of master, but Raphael was always too focused on his own pleasures to let himself do so much as lick his lips, lock eyes, spread his legs. It should have given Caspar the edge. 

Caspar had his own weak points. While Raphael didn’t actually _do_ anything, he was a natural predator, having all the natural aspects that attracted Caspar in the first place. 

Which is why Caspar’s eyes focused solely on the big hand moving over the big dick. 

He glanced up to Raphael’s face, sweet and kind and a broad nervous smile crossed it. Genuine and excited. Raphael quickly spit into his hand, smeared his precum, everything to get his dick slicked up for a good jerking. 

Like that. Something as simple as just that was more than enough to boil Caspar’s blood. His dick twitched with need in his hand. 

Caspar attacked back. 

He could lick his lips, he could spread his legs, he could maintain a searing eye contact with Raphael. His hand pumped down his dick, twisted, doing more than just pleasuring himself. A slow steady hand pushed up the hem of his shirt, high enough to reveal one pectoral, one nipple, just enough for him to pinch it. He gasped from the force of it, the intake of air shaking. 

It had the desired effect. 

Raphael bit his lip in pain, his hand subconsciously moving quicker. Gifted with a site to spur his orgasm. 

Caspar stuffed his shirt into his mouth to reveal rippling muscles, to give more of a feast for Raphael’s eyes. He slid his hand down his body, making a show of it, all while keeping up the same even steady pace on his cock. He reached into his pants and cupped his balls, massaging them, playing with them. He didn’t need to, but Caspar moaned and rocked his head back in absolute pleasure. 

Raphael gasped. Caspar grinned. He was winning. 

Taking the briefest of moments, Raphael let go of his cock and quickly shed his shirt up and over his head. 

It wasn’t far. 

Caspar had to work, he had to try so hard, but it all came to Raphael so naturally. 

Broad shoulders, a broad chest, a thick body, the curve of extra muscles and fat that pointed into his cock. All of it had molded the big man into a naturally desirable creature. 

Caspar growled and chewed on more of his shirt. 

Their fists moved at the exact same pace, jerking themselves as they would if they were alone. If they went slow, if they were actively trying to make this last, that was cheating. And Caspar was no cheater. 

His eyes wandered over Raphael, enjoying the way he moved, the way he breathed. The swollen thickness of his midsection heaving as his abdominals twitched. A big meaty thigh hitched up higher. 

Caspar wondered how far he could push the big man. 

Raphael, splayed out and panting in front of him, that big heavy dick in his hand. It was impossible not to think of what more they could do. He knew just how Raphael’s hands felt on him, how it felt to be pinned down, the noise he made when Caspar wrenched his arm behind his back. All of it so neatly fell into place under entirely different circumstances. How easy it was to simply think of Raphael bent over and panting his name. . . .

Caspar was going to lose. 

Raphael whined. A telltale noise that gave him away so easily. His lower lip quivered and his thighs shook. 

Caspar sat up a little straighter. Out of pure excitement, he jerked himself a little faster. The tight build in his loins nothing compared to the competitive nature yelling at him to win. 

Of course he’d win. How could there have been any doubt? 

Raphael called out, loud and booming, and came. Cum leapt from his dick, coating his hand, spurting in ropes of sticky white. His head rolled back, hitting the column with a too loud _thunk_. 

The second Raphael’s spunk hit the air, Caspar stopped jerking himself. He didn’t give the big man anytime to settle down and crawled over to his side. At least he waited until Raphael gave out one last moan and opened his eyes. Caspar was leaned in close, dominating his vision. 

“I win,” he said with a feral grin. “Get on your back.” 

“Aw man,” Raphael whined, but scooted down regardless.

Raphael had barely settled on his back before Caspar was on him. He grabbed a big pectoral in each hand and gave them a too fierce of a squeeze. Raphael whined, but took it as the graceful loser he was. Caspar scooted forward, putting his dick between those mighty tits, and began fucking into them. 

They weren’t soft and plush and pillowy. They were big and filled with muscle, hard under Caspar’s grip. Just enough to squeeze and manipulate around his dick. 

Caspar’s hips rocked back and forth across Raphael’s chest, rolling to get just the right squeeze. His cock head rubbed up against Raphael’s sternum, smearing precum in the sweat. He had been close before and he was on the cusp between Raphael’s tits. 

Caspar whined, trying to hold it, trying to savor the moment. His head rolled back and he closed his eyes, grinding his teeth in exertion. 

Big, warm, encapsulating hands rested on his thighs and it was all over. 

Caspar barked out a cry and cum splattered across Raphael’s neck and chin. The big man winced and turn his head way from the surprise of it. 

His friendly grip did not let up, holding on to Caspar tight. 

And that, more than anything, was too much for Caspar. The tenderness, the gentleness. He was used to the rough housing, the wrestling, that was what he was used to. This side of Raphael. . . this taste. . . it was too much. 

Caspar opened his eyes to see a wide eyed Raphael beneath him, mouth open in awe. 

“Wow,” he whispered. 

Caspar couldn’t let it get to him. He grinned and sat up, slapping one bicep. 

“Of course,” he laughed. “You expecting any different?” 

Raphael laughed, booming and loud, as per usual. It was a little strange with the cum stains across his chin, but warmth radiated from him all the same. 

And his hands were still on Caspar’s thighs. 

Unable to endure much more of that too gentle touch, Caspar cleared his throat and clambered off the big man. 

“Come on,” he said, tying up his pants without so much as cleaning off. “Wipe your face and lets get back to it.” 

“Okay okay, give me a second,” Raphael said, using his discarded shirt to wipe down his chin and neck. He missed a little bit. “Want to sneak into the dining hall after this and get some food?” 

“Sure thing!” 

Raphael pat Caspar’s back as they trotted back onto the dirt. That big hand so much more than camaraderie. 

Caspar wondered that maybe Raphael would want to do it again sometime. Not as a competition. Maybe if he asked nicely. 

Caspar lunged at the big man, going for the legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops tripped and added some soff. 
> 
> Don't worry, they'll get together :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	24. Felix/Annette - body swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bubbling laughter bounced as Annette gasped for air. She leaned over, resting one hand on her knee, holding up a finger. She gasped for air, chest heaving as she did. She looked up to Felix again, one eye closed, the other wet with amused tears. Another bout of hysterics played at pressed together lips, cheeks puffing as she tried to hold it in, just before once again failing. 
> 
> Felix threw his hands up in the air. 
> 
> “I give up,” he said. 
> 
> “I’m sorry!” Annette gasped. “I’m sorry! Its just. . . the look on your face. . . on my face. . hee hee heee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  BODY SWAP  
> FACE SITTING**
> 
> I honestly didn't expect to like this one as much as I did. They're cute.

Annette would not stop laughing. It was unnerving to see such joy on that face. Felix only watched her, arms crossed tight across his chest, glaring down his girlfriend. 

“Are you quite finished?” he asked, the tone of it just as strange as her laughter. 

The bubbling laughter bounced as Annette gasped for air. She leaned over, resting one hand on her knee, holding up a finger. She gasped for air, chest heaving as she did. She looked up to Felix again, one eye closed, the other wet with amused tears. Another bout of hysterics played at pressed together lips, cheeks puffing as she tried to hold it in, just before once again failing. 

Felix threw his hands up in the air. 

“I give up,” he said. 

“I’m sorry!” Annette gasped. “I’m sorry! Its just. . . the look on your face. . . on my face. . hee hee heee.” 

Felix glared. 

“Its just,” she said between amused gasps. “So. Ridiculous!!!” 

She fell back into laughter and all Felix could do was shake his head. Her head. The head he currently occupied. 

“On that we agree,” he muttered. 

The battle on the mountain side hadn’t been particularly taxing, but had become frenzied and confusing. Smoke obscured the field. Friend and foe became difficult to differentiate. Felix remembered seeing Annette, floating above the fray, hands up with a spell on her lips, and oblivious to the surprise attack coming her way. Felix had little time to fell the enemy, instead jumping in front of the magic that was to pierce his girlfriend. 

Then the world went black. 

Relief filled him when he woke up. He would gladly give his life to save Annette, but more so when he could remain alive. There were so many more days to spend with her. 

Upon awakening, he already knew something was wrong. His body didn’t have the strain and soreness of wielding a sword, the power in his legs to move quickly. A thrum ran through his veins that he was unused to. When he reached deep within himself to find his crest, he found a stranger lying there instead. He had sat up sharply, groping at his heart, and instead of a hardened whippet of a body he had soft curves and plush skin. 

And saw his own face staring back at him. 

The spell that had been thrown at them had come directly from hell. 

Annette was still laughing. With his face. Mouth pulled wide, eyebrows pinched and upturned. The sound of it so foreign to his ears. Joyous instead of scoffing and sarcastic. Amused with optimistic glee rather than scathing apathy. 

It was grating. 

She looked back up at him. 

“Oh come on Felix,” she said with his voice but still managing to sound like herself. “Don’t you think this is a little funny?” 

“No,” Felix said flatly. The stoney chill of her voice was just as haunting as laughter from him. 

She smiled sympathetically. 

“I didn’t know I could pout like that,” she said. 

“I am not pouting,” Felix huffed. 

She reached out and poked a puffy cheek. Round and soft, unlike his own. 

“You totally are,” she said. “I suppose you can’t help it. I’m prone to pouting.” 

Felix swatted her hand away and paused. The hand he now owned was drastically different from what he was used to, magic lacing around soft skin in bluish scars, fingernails delicate and manicured. He flexed the fingers, a static dancing from his fingertips. 

“Careful with that,” Annette said.

Felix closed his hand. 

“I have magic,” he said, the snipe sounding strange in her voice. 

She leaned over and placed a much larger hand over his delicate one. 

“Not like mine, sweetie,” she said. 

His mouth. Saying the word _sweetie_. Was incorrect. 

Felix was ready to admit that he couldn’t glare and could only pout. 

Annette sat back and blew out a slow breath. She ran her hands up and down thighs that weren’t hers. 

“Are you always this sore?” she asked, massaging out the muscles. 

“Its to be expected,” Felix said and didn’t feel the need to elaborate more. 

“Ugh geez its just so. . .” Annette cracked his neck, craning it one way than the next. She rubbed at the crook of his shoulder where it was always sore. “Stiff.” 

Living without that sensation was bizarre. There were aches and pains up and down Annette’s body, a new bruise here, a cut there, but it wasn’t the strain of having pushed oneself too far or the build of new muscle. Everything was soft and fluid and pliant. It even felt more comfortable to sit. Felix blamed the extra cushioning. 

Annette kept groaning and ran her hands down his body, feeling the new soreness that she’d have to acclimate to. Her fingers traced over his chest, down his stomach. 

Felix bristled. 

The wandering hands were innocent at first, but Felix could see the moment when the wheels began to turn in Annette’s little mind. She opened up the robe and ran her hand over the flat expanse of his stomach, fingers toying with the hem of his pants. 

Felix’s hands balled into fists. 

“Stop that,” he spat. 

Annette looked up, his eyes wide and curious. 

“Oh,” she said. “I guess I got distracted.” 

A light airy laugh that had no place on his tongue. 

“Well don’t be,” Felix said. 

“Come on Felix. Its not like I haven’t seen it before,” Annette said. 

“This is different!” 

Annette cocked her head and looked up into the air. A slow smile formed on her face. 

“Wow,” she said. “You’re quick to react.” 

“Thats all you!” Felix hissed, leaning closer. 

“Well maybe,” Annette laughed again. “You’re allowed to touch me if you like.” 

That gave Felix pause. He sat upright and looked down at the body he currently inhabited. All sweet curved and soft supple flesh. Things he had touched before and knew what they felt like from one end, but not the other. He shook the idea out of his head. 

“I would never,” he said. 

“If you like _I_ could touch you,” Annette said. She paused. “Well me. I mean. I could touch my body.” 

She held up a hand and grabbed at the air in demonstration. Felix glare pouted at it before whipping Annette’s eyes back to his face. 

“Wouldn’t that be. . . strange?” he asked. 

“Well,” she said. “The way I figure it is nobody knows my body better than me so. . .” 

A biting refusal sat ready on his lips, but he hesitated. When they had first started a more. . . physical relationship, Annette had been clumsy, too eager, but she was a quick study. They learned what each other liked and how best to communicate that. And besides, Annette's pleasure always seemed so. . . 

Felix looked down at the body he was inhabiting. All soft curves and a pillowed chest that strained his gown. The mere glance caused a heat between his legs and subconsciously he squeezed his thighs together. 

"Maybe just a little," he muttered.

Annette smiled, a coy little thing Felix's mouth had never done before, and she crossed the little gap to sit on his bed. Hands raised at the ready, she paused. She let out a quick breath, steeled her determination, and carefully rested Felix's hands on her own tits. 

It was odd. Normally, when Annette would feel Felix up like that, it was a simple trace of her hands, leaning into a hard chest, _maybe sometimes_ she would squeeze what he had, but like he was in that moment, she had something to hold. Two big handfuls of tit that she could really dig her fingers into. And Felix could _feel it_.

He whined, he bit his lip, his fists curled in his lap. There was something about Annette’s hands, _his_ hands, molding and moving the new breasts he wore, that was so over stimulating. 

“Oh wow,” Annette said. “This is strange.” 

Felix opened one eye to glare at her, but her focus was on his chest. Her chest. 

Felix examined the body before him. The robe had opened slightly to reveal the jut of a collar bone, the shape of a strong, molded chest, all the way down to the dip in his sternum. It hung off broad shoulders in the way Annette would wear it, the way that had always shown off skin that was so tantalizing to him. 

The sight of his own body didn’t turn Felix on, not in the way it would Annette. The way the robe fell, the curious stare in her eyes, all of it so purely _her_ that he couldn’t help be enamored. 

He went for the tent at the base of her robe. 

Annette dropped her head and groaned. Her fingers dug a little too tight into his tits. 

“Ooooh,” she moaned. “Oh wow thats. . .”

Felix wrapped his hand around the shape of his own cock. One he knew how to manhandle, one he knew how to make feel good and right. He twisted his hand, pulled on it, watching the dark spot of precum stick to the fabric. 

“Thats intense,” Annette breathed. 

Felix huffed out a laugh, a snarky thing that sounded wrong. Felix picked up the slow and steady pace around the dick. The more he did, the longer Annette’s hand stalled. They fell from his tits, hovering in the air, and her head hung low. Dark bangs covered the intense pleasure she felt. 

“I could take of this for you,” Felix whispered. 

She looked up, her eyes, not her eyes, pleasure drugged and hazy. A coy smile quirked on her lips. 

“Actually,” she said, finally resting her hands on his thighs. “Would you like to see what it is that you do to me?” 

That heat that had already started to build between Felix’s legs twitched in interest. He could feel the wet and found it wanting. 

Felix looked around the room, eyes darting quickly, reassessing that they were indeed alone. He knew how good Annette’s mouth was, taking him so well, and wondered if she’d be the same with different hardware. 

She did say she knew her body better than anyone else. 

Felix threw off the blanket. 

“Alright,” he said. 

Annette wasted no time. 

She wriggled in under Felix’s robes, spreading his legs wide. An open exposure he’d only experienced when first baring his body to his girlfriend came over him again. He should be used to this. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before. But with legs wide and the damp between them, he felt as open to attack as on the battlefield. 

Then her tongue touched him. 

Felix gasped and grabbed the lump under his robes. 

“Annette!” he said breathlessly. 

Annette laughed and ran her tongue between the folds of his cunt. Agonizingly slow at first, a special kind of torture, that only built on Felix’s surmounting sensations. His breathing picked up as hers disappeared, her focus settling strictly on the work in front of her. Felix knew of Annette’s talented tongue, had felt it wrap around his cock and lick at the base, but feeling it swirl around his clit was an entirely different world altogether. 

She had not been lying. 

Sword roughened hands slid up his delicate thighs, slowly spreading them apart, exposing him more. Annette shifted, pushing in closer, pressing the broad side of her tongue to the new anatomy between his legs. 

The tightness between his legs stretched like a rubber band. He stood at the edge of a cliff, ready to teeter overboard. 

Panic set in. 

“Stop,” he hissed. “Stop stop!” 

Annette stopped. Her head popped out from underneath the robe, hair askew, an expression of worry that was familiar on another’s face. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

Felix keened. The loss of her torturous tongue may have been worse than its wet dance. He squeezed his legs together. He couldn’t tell if he was alright or not and couldn’t give her a direct answer. 

A hand, much larger than he was used to, rested on his face, cupping his cheek as she always would when he was frustrated. He finally peered up to her. 

“I feel out of control,” he uttered. 

Annette’s brows rose. 

“Oh,” she said. “Well.” 

She looked to the side, searching for a solution. A smile graced her face when she found it. 

“I know a way you could be in control,” she said. 

“What’s that?” Felix asked. 

Annette shifted, placing her body next to his, his body next to hers. She lay down on her back, settling into place, and wriggling her shoulders in that way when she made herself extra comfy. With that same small smile that had no place on that face, she tapped her chest. 

“Climb aboard,” she said. 

It took Felix a moment to realize what she was saying, but it sank in. They’d done this before and it was always a treat for him. To be subject to her majesty, to look up the expanse of her body and see her towering high above him, to worship her as she was meant to be worshipped. 

The way she moved, the noises she made, left Felix deliciously curious. 

He straddled her face. 

Annette was right. Felix was in complete control. He could push down, he could lift up, he was the one that dictated how far away Annette’s tongue was from his sensitive clit. His hands fisted in hair he was used to touching, grabbing it and pulling without feeling the yank on roots. He ground down on the eager mouth. His head rocked back and the moan that escaped his lips was a high pitched song that should not have come from his throat. 

Felix rolled his hips, rubbing up and down the face beneath him, and Annette’s waggling tongue dutifully kept her pace, her finesse. The new sensations tingled from between his legs, deep into the heat that pitted at the base of his stomach. Annette’s hands dug into his hips, pawing at his ass. She pushed into him, swirled around his clit, moved quick then slow then quick again. But not once did she pull him down, not once did she command him where to go. 

That was all up to Felix. 

He grabbed a handful of dark hair and pulled her head up to meet him. She was hidden between milky thighs, under the drape of the robe, a place he had been so many times before. He rode the face between his legs, felt the tongue between his folds. The sensation built and built. Felix closed his eyes, rolled his head back, opened his mouth only for no sound to escape. 

Deep between his legs he felt a sharp pull. A flutter. A contraction of muscle. He yelped, a sound he had never made before. His legs squeezed and the tongue kept going and going, even as he bucked against it. 

Unlike anything he’d felt before but still so recognizable. 

Annette didn’t let up. Not once. She slowed, but kept working. Felix could have moved away, but the sensation of it pulled out another twitch, another delightful overwhelming pull. And when he sighed, there was one more broad stroke of the tongue, and they were done. 

Felix slid down Annette’s chin, the robe pulling over her face, and got a strange, hazed over, wet expression blinking up at him. Heavy lidded eyes that saw nothing, a dopey grin from reddened puffy lips, shining with his wet. 

Felix snorted. 

“Do I look like that when I’m done with you?” he asked. 

“Everytime,” she slurred from a dream. 

Felix sat down, his ass settling on her stomach, and felt something poke at his back. He rocked his hips and Annette bit her lip in a whine. He reached behind him and found a cock so familiar, unhidden from the part in the robe. He stroked it once, exactly how he knew he liked it, and smirked. 

“Would you like me to take care of you?” he purred in her voice. 

“Actually,” Annette rasped. She cleared her throat and tried again, struggling against the twist of Felix’s hand. “I was wondering. . . if we could. . . ya know. All the way?” 

Felix paused. He frowned. He reached between his legs and gently rubbed over his clit, eliciting another painful shudder. 

“Wouldn’t that be too much?” he asked. 

“No,” Annette said and ran a hand up his thigh. “Might even get another one out of you.” 

“Another. . . really?” 

Annette sat up and wrapped strong arms around his waist. She pulled him closer, the gentle coaxing she had when occupying her own body, and placed messy lips against his own. She tasted of herself, a flavor familiar to Felix and he wished he’d been the one to do it. 

“Alright,” Felix whispered against her lips. “How do you want me?” 

“Lie on your back,” she said. 

Dutifully, Felix climbed off Annette and they switched places on the bed. Splayed out on his back, hair pillowing around him, hands gently rested at his sides, a sense of ease blanketed over him as Annette did. For the first time in a long time, she was awkward. She ambled over him, trying to find the right spot to put her legs. 

Felix laughed and took pity on her. He reached between them, finding her cock, and pressed his heel to her lower back, easing her forward. They moved together, like a dance, until slowly she slid inside. 

Felix had been filled before. They had explored each other in a multitude of different ways, but by far this was a different sensation. He was wet enough that she slid right in. The stretch was not as simple as that. The way Annette’s cock filled him hit different spots within. 

“Oh Felix,” Annette shuddered, her head dropping in prayer. “Oh Felix this is. . .” 

“Ah,” was all Felix could say. 

Arms draped around him as Felix wrapped around her. Legs hitched up powerful hips, arms around broad shoulders. Her head bowed, hair loosely draping around them. And she held like that. 

“Ah-annette,” Felix ground out. “Move.” 

Annette whimpered but bucked her hips. Felix jolted, eyes widening, and held on tighter. 

“Annette,” he breathed. 

She bucked again. And again. Her legs eked up the bed, spreading him wider. Annette rocked into him until she was no longer pushing with her knees, no longer getting the power from her hips, but using her core to roll her cock deeper into his cunt. Until Felix stopped simply taking it and joined as an active participant, hooking his feet together around a slim waist, raising his hips off the bed to meet her. He groaned and grabbed the sheets between his fist, so sure that Annette was right. 

He’d come again. 

“Felix,” Annette whined into his ear. “Felix. . . I. . .” 

She barked out a cry and Felix felt her cock jolt inside him. Her body shook as she came, filling him with her seed, rocking back and forth, still trying to fuck him without rhythmn. 

Felix stared at the ceiling in abject shock. So soon? She had barely lasted a minute. 

But before he could yearn for more he blinked. 

When he opened them again, he was looking down at the ravishing woman he had grown to love, once again wearing her own face. His body shook, still coming down from the jolting shivers of orgasm. Annette blinked blearily up at him, still feeling the effects. 

The realization of what had happened settled in. The spell had worn off. Annette took in what Felix had been looking at all night. She laughed once. It sounded right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet babies :)))))) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	25. Hubert/Ashe - sensory deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe Ubert sat with his back to Hubert, his legs folded underneath him, sitting back on his heels, back straight, hands in his lap. As he ought to be. As a good boy would. And Ashe was nothing but _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  SENSORY DEPRIVATION  
> BLINDFOLDS  
> GAGS  
> BDSM**
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:  
>  SELF LOATHING**
> 
> Really I'm just shipping two of my favorite characters at this point. I didn't expect it to work so well.
> 
> And I realize that I've pretty much had Ashe as a bottom all month so I'll put it in now TOP ASHE RIGHTS >:O

Hubert walked into the small dark room and closed the door behind him. He stared at the door handle for a long moment, letting his eyes adjust, before peering deeper into their little play place. Seated in the center of the room was his prize. 

Ashe Ubert sat with his back to Hubert, his legs folded underneath him, sitting back on his heels, back straight, hands in his lap. As he ought to be. As a good boy would. And Ashe was nothing but _good_.

Hubert sauntered towards the man seated there, shoes clicking against stone. He trailed his hand over covered shoulders, just barely skimming the his shirt, and delighting in the little shiver that ran down Ashe's spine. Hubert moved away to the small table, their tools neatly placed on top. Ashe kept and maintained them, silently presented them to Hubert. He picked what they would play with, what Hubert would be using on him. Hubert snorted at Ashe’s selection, picking up the obscene plug. He wasn’t supposed to make a sound, to continue the illusion of anonymity. Ashe shifted behind him at the noise but otherwise said nothing. 

Hubert scooped up Ashe’s choices and made his way back to the man. He crouched behind him, watching tension run through Ashe’s back, making him sit up just a little straighter. Hubert smiled, enjoying his attention. 

First came the blindfold. Specifically designed for torture, to keep a captive enemy unaware of their surroundings. He made sure the pads lined up perfectly with Ashe’s eyes, leaning over to do so. Ashe gasped, a light barely perceptible thing, but at their proximity it was hard to miss. Hubert smiled, his face almost touching Ashe’s. 

He tightened the strap of the blindfold enough to jerk Ashe’s head back. Ashe’s suck in of air transformed into a light yelp, but he otherwise held upright. Because he was _good_. 

Next came the gag. A ball that slid into Ashe’s mouth, between his teeth, straining at the corners of his lips. He would still be able to talk around it, but he would never. 

Last came the spell. Hubert carefully cupped his hands around Ashe’s ears, uttered the quiet words, and blackened hands glowed purple. A distortion danced in the air just inside his palms and he pushed it to Ashe’s ears. The glimmering air skewed the shape of his ears, making them shift and dance behind the spell. It slid into Ashe’s ears, filling them like so much cotton. The spell cut off all sound, muting the world, taking away one more sense from Hubert’s willing prey. 

And with that, Ashe was cut off from the world. 

Hubert wrenched Ashe’s arms behind his back without care. Manhandling him. He grunted against his gag, his body rocking with each movement. Hubert slipped the leather around his arms, sliding Ashe’s hands within the gloves. It was a homemade device, something Ashe had put together himself, and when it had first showed up on the tool table, Hubert almost laughed out loud. 

It was stunning just how depraved the little archer was. 

When they had begun this, it had been an accident. Neither one of them intended to be so sexually involved with one another. Ashe had turned his head, had closed his eyes, but had begged for more. Hubert had given it to him. 

The ritual had turned into silence, save for a few signals back and forth. Ashe pushed Hubert more and more, into deeper and deeper territories, and Hubert would bend him as he pleased. Close to breaking. 

As to why. . . Hubert had a guess. 

Once hands were firmly bound behind Ashe’s back, Hubert gently nudged his prey forward. Holding onto that binding between his wrists, he lowered Ashe to the ground, leaning him forward, until his cheek rested upon cold stone. A shiver shuddered over Ashe’s body, quivering his legs. 

Hubert ran a hand over that supple ass, sliding down the crack and pushing cloth to outline it, all the way down to the softness of a sensitive sack. Ashe’s breath shook behind the gag, but he made no noise. 

The scissors were a constant, just like the oil. A staple that was brought to their little game. They weren’t the call to action the specific instruments Ashe picked out or the necessary requirements like the blindfold and gag, but rather there if they were needed. 

Hubert would need them. 

He plucked the fabric of Ashe’s pants, pulling them away in a neat tent, and snipped a hole. Then a line. Then another. Until the pants had been thoroughly destroyed and Ashe’s ass was exposed to the darkened room. Even in the bleak, Hubert could see the few freckles and birth marks on his hips and across his cheeks. His face in the dirt and his ass in the air, gagged and bound, Ashe was a humiliating sight. 

But Ashe’s resolve held still, his breathing even. 

Hubert removed a glove and coated his fingers in the oil. A specialized scent that Ashe seemed to prefer, something of a comfort. Hubert wondered if he could smell it in the air, if his nose had begun to clog yet. 

Hubert got something from this little game of theirs. A pleasure, a sexual relief. He got a plaything, someone willing to toy with. He got to test boundaries with an otherwise pleasant creature. He got to witness a darkness and spread it open wide. 

He got a fuck. 

Some days Hubert was eager and would rush. Others he would prefer to treat Ashe as less than human and simply use him. That particular evening, Hubert wanted to enjoy himself, to let Ashe enjoy it. If he was capable of such things. 

Gentle, almost loving, Hubert smeared the sweetly scented oil around the exposed hole. It twitched at his touch, hips flinching from the sudden soft slick. Barely acclimating even as Hubert rubbed it in, pat him, slid a finger in with the greatest of ease. 

Ashe still made not a single sound. 

Hubert fingered the ass before him, slowly pumping in and out, in and out, watching the skin pull and suck around him. It was sweet, it was kind. He was pretty sure it wasn’t what Ashe was looking for. Hubert slid in a second. He danced his fingers inside, he coaxed against the walls, he twisted and pressed and pulled Ashe open. The breathing picked up. The third finger was for pure utility, to spread that sweet ass wider, to once again push it to its limits. Ashe’s head rolled and his forehead pressed against the earth. 

Four fingers. That was for Ashe. 

A slow coax. A sweet slide. More oil, more slick, as gentle as petting a kitten. 

Finally Ashe moaned. If it had been in pain, it was coiled under pleasure. His back hunched and the leather around his fists whined as they moved against each other. His hips wriggled, pushing back against Hubert’s fist, shoes digging into the ground for that sweet leverage. 

If Hubert really wanted he could stretch Ashe to his limits and beyond and shove his whole hand in there. 

Hubert’s fingers spread and Ashe groaned like the animal he was. 

That was enough. Hubert slid his fingers free of the tight squeeze and went for the plug. 

Ashe must have known what was going on next. He’d picked the toy out after all. But from the panting and the shifting of his legs, trying to acclimate to his uncomfortable position, denoted a delicious anticipation. A far worse torture than anything Hubert could acutally _do_. He wondered how long he could keep Ashe in that space. 

Hubert kissed the oiled up plug to Ashe’s wanting hole. 

The slow push in pulled an equally slow moan from the freckle kissed man. Bit by painful bit, the ass before him spread and spread. The tapered point pushed and shoved and forced Ashe’s skin to accommodate. The leather from his bound hand whined as his hands curled into fists. His toes curled. Hubert smiled. 

He pulsated the plug in and out, gently fucking Ashe with the toy. Moans and whines faded, transformed into focused breathing. A soft suck in told Hubert Ashe was drooling around his gag. Just what he wanted. 

Ready to move on, Hubert steadily pressed the rest of the toy in. The push did things to Ashe, pleasured him, tortured him, hurt and teased him. He moaned again, his chin hitting the stone. When there was more, one foot kicked. Hubert held it down, pressed his thumb on the base, and popped the remainder of the tool into the heat of Ashe’s ass. 

Ashe threw his head back and wailed, a pathetic muffled thing, gargling around the wet that pooled in his mouth. His back arched deliciously, making curves that Hubert loved to exploit. 

Without much fanfare or time to give Ashe to acclimate, Hubert roughly grabbed Ashe by the place where his wrists connected and yanked him back up to sitting. He sat down on the stuffed plug, sitting back on his heels, and moaned again at the fullness of it. Hubert released one ear from the spell and the pop of sudden noise, no matter how dim, would be enough of a signifier to Ashe. 

Ashe didn’t respond, not at first, and Hubert was ready to end it, to strip Ashe of his bindings and leave. But through the heaving and breathing and want, Ashe managed to nod pathetically. He was good to continue. Hubert put the spell back in place. 

Scissors in hand, Hubert reached around Ashe, his body so much smaller when they were that close. Ashe’s lack of balance had him leaned against Hubert’s chest and in his hold, Ashe went tense. Anticipation, maybe, but Hubert knew better. 

He plucked the fabric of Ashe’s shirt and carefully cut a hole, as he had the pants. It tore neatly under his touch, ripping into shambles, exposing a pale chest and stomach. He ran his hands down the freckled expanse, pushing the body against his just to listen to Ashe pant in his ear. He plucked at pert nipples, hard from the cold and attention. Twisted them, toyed with them, pinched them just to hurt. Ashe’s head flopped away from Hubert’s, groaning as he did. 

Hubert’s touch continued down. The cold of the scissors brushed against delicate skin and it jumped and jolted from it. With great care, Hubert slid the blade into the hem of Ashe’s pants. The snip was loud in the quiet of the room, not that Ashe could hear it. He met the rip from the ass and Ashe’s pants fell away, leaving only two legs and exposed crotch. The fabric caught on his dick, but Hubert pushed it aside, running the scissors neatly up the underside of Ashe’s cock. 

The quick intake of air was delicious. 

He pulled the scissors away with a flourish and slid out from behind Ashe. The bound man rocked backwards and moaned as he involuntarily fucked back onto the plug. 

Hubert rounded the man, taking in what details he could in the dark. The surprisingly muscular form on a slim frame, strong arms for pulling arrows taut, spread legs wanting more, the constellations of freckles adorning his body. The little bit of dribble that traced down his chin, the hang of his head. 

Hubert stopped in front of Ashe. He knew why he was here. 

He’d known since Ashe’s arrow hit home. 

Ashe had defected to Edelgard’s side, not out of some sense of loyalty, not to support her cause, but to oppose the church. To rage against the people that had ripped his family away from him, to find answers why. They had betrayed his trust so he had left. 

Left his friends behind. 

On the battlefield, it was hard to tell who was still friend and who was foe. And when one of those friends had moved to attack, out of some sense of betrayal or more out of duty, Ashe had no choice but to let his arrow fly. 

Hubert still remembered the look on his face. How he froze, eyes wide in terror. He would have died in turn had Hubert not protected the little archer, but Ashe may have wanted that. At the time. 

When their little tradition had started, it was out of some base need. Ashe, the animal, needed to feel again, needed to be human again. He’d all but attacked Hubert, silently demanding the torturer's hands to bend him, to break him. Looking away, keeping his eyes closed and his tongue bitten. Not in the moment where he could feel pleasure. 

He wanted to be punished. 

There were no instruments of blunt force that time. No crop or whip or spiked spoke. Some days, Ashe felt the need to hurt more. He wanted to feel it days afterwards. Hubert could see it when he sat down, when he was ginger with his steps, when he rubbed at his chest.

When his eyes avoided Hubert’s. 

Hubert knew, however. Ashe always wanted at least a little pain. 

He grabbed Ashe by the chin and tilted his head up. Ashe’s chest pumped. Whistling piped from behind the gag. He could see teeth biting into it. Slowly, Ashe tilted his head, exposing a bare cheek. 

Hubert struck it. 

The crack rang through the room from the force of Hubert’s open palm. Ashe called out, a wet pained thing that was not befitting him. A sound that told Hubert how much he was leaning into the theater. He hunched over, his hair hanging over his brow, breathing from the pain of it. After another suck of saliva, Hubert grabbed Ashe by the hair and yanked his head back up. 

His face was upturned, pointed at Hubert, but blind to him. On more than one occasion, Hubert wanted to remove that blindfold, to have pale green eyes staring up in that desperation. Then maybe, maybe, he could pretend it was for him, and not begging for another hit. 

Ashe tilted his head. Hubert swung his other hand. 

“Ah!” came the cry from behind the gag. 

Ashe almost fell over. The force of the blow wobbled him on his knees and without the aid of his hands to hold him up he almost hit the stone. If not for Hubert. 

His hand was gentle on the side of Ashe’s head, cradling him in place. A too intimate touch that had no place there. The heat from Ashe’s cheek could be felt even through Hubert’s glove. The reddening shape of splayed fingers already forming on a porcelain cheek. His fingers twitched, aching to soothe the blow, as he waited for Ashe to acclimate. 

But that wasn’t why they were there. 

A steady breath eased through Ashe’s nose and he slumped back onto his heels. Hubert could return to objectifying him. 

His hand slithered down Ashe’s throat, down his chest. If he had a tool, he might have beat it. Something about hitting over his heart drew out the worst in Ashe. Where he pierced his enemies. But instead, Hubert continued his trek down the ruined shirt, pushing aside tatters to show more skin, all the way to the hole between his legs. 

Ashe’s cock wept. Half hard and filling by the second. At Hubert’s touch, his legs spread wider. Perverted, depraved man. 

Hubert huffed out a laugh, slowly tracing circles over Ashe’s thighs. The intrusive thought slipped into his mind again. The one that had been building for weeks. Of what it would be like to hold that cock, to have Ashe exposed and actually looking at him. _Really_ looking at him. Not to punish but solely, and only to pleasure. 

It was not. What they. Were there for. 

Hubert smacked Ashe’s thigh. Less force than he had the slaps, but hard all the same, spreading Ashe’s legs wider. It was a little close to the erect cock, his fingers breezing by sensitive skin and sack. Ashe sucked in a breath and recoiled, trying to jump away from the violence out of instinct. Back and forth, he smacked Ashe’s inner thighs, spreading him wider and wider until he was satisfied, until Ashe was whining, and he grabbed Ashe’s cock. 

Ashe sobbed from behind the gag. 

Hubert could have jerked him off, could have denied him, left him teetering on the edge. The play was in his hands now, literally. He looked up at Ashe, red faced and drooling, and imagined him panting Hubert’s name. 

Hubert couldn’t stand that. 

He let go of Ashe’s cock and the mute spell over one ear. Ashe was quick to nod, that he was okay, that _yes please please please continue this_. Agitated and irritated that Hubert even had to ask. Hubert snapped the spell back in place and reached around Ashe’s head to unbuckle the gag. 

Ashe’s head rocked forward, his jaw clicking to accommodate the empty space. Previously restrained dribble trailed from his lower lip and a pink tongue swiped at it. Before he could question why his mouth was freed, Hubert shoved his fingers inside. 

Ashe gagged and Hubert titled Ashe’s head upwards. He pat at Ashe’s tongue, stroking it, plucking it to pull it out. Play with his play thing. 

He could have kept fumbling with Ashe’s tongue, kept shoving his fingers deeper and deeper down Ashe’s throat, had the man not wrapped his lips around Hubert’s glove. Had he not moaned and twisted his tongue between Hubert’s fingers. Had he tried not to be the villain he was, the murderer he’d become. 

Had he not tried so very hard to be _good_. 

Hubert let the obscene display continue. Let Ashe, stuffed full, bound, torn, and spread open, worship his fingers. Hubert allowed himself that indulgence, let Ashe descend further so that he could forget. 

Hubert blinked slowly, tried to control his breathing and his thoughts. He couldn’t deny that Ashe was beautiful. Pretty green eyes, a long delicate neck, strong arms and talented fingers. A talented tongue.

Who was being punished? 

Hubert shoved Ashe back, leaving his tongue hanging. He rose to his feet and stared down at the creature below him. He was fully hard and wanting. But so was Hubert. 

He undid his pants and slid them down over his cock. He wasted no time, grabbed Ashe by the back of his head, and shoved the cock in his face. It rubbed up against the corner of his mouth, up his ruined cheek, over the blindfold. He prodded him once, twice, smearing precum as he did, until Ashe managed to catch the cock head between his lips. Secured and in place, Hubert clamped a heavy hand on the back of Ashe’s head and drove his cock into his little sleeve. 

Ashe gagged, but took it. He had no choice but to. 

Hubert held him there and groaned at the pleasant wet warmth of Ashe’s mouth. His head rocked back, staring up at the ceiling, allowing himself to just feel. 

They held there, not moving, Hubert not letting Ashe up. Filling his mouth full of cock, stuffing him from both ends. Until Ashe choked, coughed, breathed desperately through his nose. Until he could feel the little huffy breaths of air against his dick. Hubert took a handful of Ashe’s hair again and yanked him off. Ashe gasped for air like coming up out of water. Not two seconds later and Hubert shoved his dick back into that open maw. 

He held Ashe in place again, gripping tight to the back of his head. Hoping that if he simply used Ashe he could go back to looking at him like the _good_ little toy that he was. 

Hubert drove a thumb into the corner of Ashe’s mouth, pulling it wider and obscene. The sticky slick gurgling noises Ashe made as he tried to breathe through his teeth roiled Hubert’s blood. 

Depraved. Obscene. Perverted. Sweet, pitiful creature. 

Hubert thrust his hips forward and hit the back of Ashe’s throat. The gag was a sweet song that echoed in the room. And again. And again. Each time pressing Ashe’s face to his abdomen. Each time he grabbed that fistful of hair and shook his head. To feel the heat of a tongue and suck of sweet cheeks around his dick. To listen to the _gluck_ ing sound of Ashe’s choke. 

To use him. 

Hubert fucked Ashe’s face, pulling on silver hair to fuck the head back down on his dick. Slamming against his nose, feeling teeth he didn’t care about, pushing into the cheek, against the tongue. Listening to the pained whine of protest from Ashe, how he wriggled in his restraints, how he danced and fucked against the plug in his ass. 

Hubert dismissed the thought of asking again, checking to see if Ashe was okay. He knew Ashe would only cry out for more, demand it through breathless gasps. And Hubert knew if he heard that desperate voice. 

He might not be able to keep this up. 

Huber threw back his head and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the man at his feet. He tried to fall into the sensations and feel, just as Ashe was. 

That deep dank place where Ashe lived. Where he was little more than an instrument. A thing to be fucked. A thing to kill. Where he had no feelings, where he had no love, no guilt, no shame, no anger. Where there was no family, no friends. Where he just was. A place where he could simultaneously forget and perpetually remember. A place of punishment, a prison of void. 

Hubert tried to chase him, to let himself just feel, but his mind took him elsewhere. 

A sun lit day. Light catching in his hair. Eyes dimmed and dull as he stared at nothing. A smile on his face that had once been so sincere and now touched with sadness. When he turned to look up at Hubert. . .

Both hands clamped down on the back of Ashe’s head and drove him once again all the way down on Hubert’s cock. Hubert grit his teeth until it hurt, a pain blossoming between a furrowed brow and squeezed shut eyes. Ashe gurgled as his mouth was filled with cum and he failed to swallow. He coughed again, a wet fleshy thing. Hubert bucked his hips as he continued to come, his dick twitching and hitting the roof of Ashe’s mouth. Fucking his toy not until he was done, but until he was satisfied. 

With great pains, he released Ashe. His limp cock slid past bruised, puffy lips, stained with strands of drool and cum. A trail dribbled down his chin, a splotch on his upper lip. The stain of tears etched onto his cheeks. Ashe hunched over, his head dropping heavy, as he tried to catch his air. And when he couldn’t, he fell to his side. 

Hubert examined the pathetic creature before him. From the ruined face to the ripped clothes, to the hard cock. He could take care of it, but Hubert knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself any longer. He made the executive decision to leave Ashe like that. 

Hubert tucked himself away and circled his prey. He crouched down behind the panting man and began to undo his restraints, giving him at least the use of his hands. What Ashe did with them was up to him. Whether he continued his punishment or cleaned up or simply just laid there. 

Hubert stalled on the last strand. It felt wrong. To come in and defile Ashe and not clean up afterwards. When this had all began, Ashe was just another one of his victims. But now. In that room. 

Ashe deserved to be clean. 

Because he _was_ good.

Pale fingers unfurled from their leathers confines. Half moon indents from where nails dug into skin peppered Ashe’s palms. Hubert idly traced them, his fingers running over Ashe’s. 

The panting stopped. 

Hubert examined Ashe, the unmistakable red mark of a hand print marring his cheek. It would need lotion. It would need care. 

Hubert ran the back of his fingers across it. 

Ashe’s breath caught. 

In the dim aftermath of orgasm, thought had stopped. A contented exhaustion blanketed over Hubert’s shoulders. He was heavy. It pressed on him, leaned him forward. 

His lips were gentle as they rested against that cheek. 

Ashe gasped in horror. His body jolted and tensed, his hands coming up to his chest in instinctual protection. 

The first instance of true fear. 

Hubert was slow to pull back, examining the man beneath him. How destroyed he was, but not from Hubert’s hand. His mouth hung slack and Hubert knew that if he were to lift the blindfold, there would be the same wide eyed terror he wore when his arrow hit its mark. 

Violence, pain, bodily destruction, all of that Ashe took, begged for, pleaded for. But the merest ounce of tenderness was far too much to handle. 

Because to Ashe, he didn’t deserve kindness. 

Hubert released the mute spell and rose to his feet. He turned without a second glance. He couldn’t spare a second glance. If he looked again he might stay. He might go back on their unspoken agreement and do the one thing Ashe did not ask for. No matter how much Hubert wanted to. 

That was not what they were there for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I played thru CF I had recruited Ashe, naturally. And just his reasonings for coming to Edelgard's side just made so much sense???? But I can still see it hurting and just jdvvdvbhdcjhdx
> 
> I've continued this story in my head and ugh the pathos 😩👌 it is delicious
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	26. Dimitri/Dedue - voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarred skin. Broad shoulders. A small smile that quirked at the corners of his lips. Hidden to only those who knew it. 
> 
> Dimitri longed to touch Dedue’s hair, see if the longer strands were as soft as they look, to prickle his fingers along the buzz at the sides. He wanted to trace over scars. He wanted to . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  VOYEURISM  
> BATH HOUSE**
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:  
>  EYE WOUND**
> 
> I like dedue a lot :) this fill is just pervin on dedue

Dedue’s hands were always gentle. Careful fingers cupped Dimitri by the chin and lifted his head. Dimitri had no choice but to look upon the thoughtful expression. 

Dimitri hissed when the cotton touched the rim of his wound. 

“I apologize, your highness,” Dedue said. A quiet rumble that duplicated in Dimitri’s chest. 

“Its . . . its alright,” Dimitri said. “I was just surprised.” 

“Mm.” Dedue leaned in again, raising the small swab to the place where Dimitri’s eye had once been. 

The nerve endings had long since died, but the expectancy of pain still remained. Another ghost to join Dimitri’s collection. 

He partly blamed Dedue’s presence, as if Dedue could be blamed for anything. He relaxed Dimitri, made him feel at ease. Around Dedue, he could let his guard down. He could allow himself to feel pain, phantom or otherwise. 

A soft wetness dabbed at the opening of his socket, trailing over the puckering of his skin. It smelled of the strange herbs Dedue grew in his little garden, a round yawning smell that was almost artificial. The ointment trailed over skin that could feel, leaving behind lines of cold. 

Dimitri closed his good eye and let out a slow relaxed breath. The tension ebbed from his shoulders. The delicate touch on his chin was in itself soothing. The meticulous care he was under gave Dimitri the permission to simply relax. Even if only for a moment. 

Caring for himself had been a luxury long forgotten. What was the need to be human when there were vermin to destroy? Who was he to rid himself of aches and pains when there was a world to burn? 

Dedue came back. He returned from the dead and insisted that Dimitri treat himself not to blood lust, but to the warmth of humanity. That he at least bathe. 

The first night of Dedue’s return had resulted in years of filth scrubbed from Dimitri’s skin. Caked on dirt and blood chipped away from his flesh. Debris of battle he’d never truly be rid of, but the man who had returned to his side would try. 

Dedue cocked Dimitri’s head for a better angle and Dimitri took the opportunity to look upon his retainer. Intensely blue eyes were focused on him, but not looking at him. They were meticulously cleaning out the crust that had built up over delicate parts of his wound. Infections that would spread all the way to and from his heart. Dedue had carefully wiped them all away. 

He turned, going for more ointment and Dimitri scanned the man. 

Scarred skin. Broad shoulders. A small smile that quirked at the corners of his lips. Hidden to only those who knew it. 

Dimitri longed to touch Dedue’s hair, see if the longer strands were as soft as they look, to prickle his fingers along the buzz at the sides. He wanted to trace over scars. He wanted to . . .

Dedue turned back and just for a second their eyes met. Dimitri quickly looked away. 

“It is not much longer,” Dedue said. 

Dimitri hummed, not wanting to correct Dedue’s assessment of his gaze. 

The burning scent from the solution stung Dimitri’s nostrils, his good eye, and had the ability still been there, he would have teared up. He blinked a few times, just to rid the dryness, and Dedue clicked his tongue. 

“Sorry,” Dimitri muttered. 

“Hold still, your highness,” Dedue said, but there was no malice to it. Instead only warmth that swaddled Dimitri. A blanket that had been lacking in his life. 

“Done,” Dedue said. 

His voice echoed off the tile of the emptied room, dripping with water. A public bath area in the monastery that had been long since abandoned. The last of the debris had been cleaned away, they had worked in shifts to scrub down the tubs, transformed the room from dusty mausoleum into a gleaming haven of heat and cleanliness. It even smelled nice, what Dimitri could smell. 

“You don’t have to bathe here, your highness,” Dedue said. Again. 

Dimitri was looking around the room, taking in the details. He’d never used the public bath house before the war, preferring the privacy of his own tub, but the whole monastery had been buzzing about it. For a brief respite, having access to clean water and steam had lifted a weight off the armies, luxuriating in a nicety that had been taken for granted. And Dimitri was curious. 

About more than one thing. 

“No,” Dimitri assured Dedue again. “I’ve heard too many good things to turn this down.” 

“Very well,” Dedue said and rose to his feet. 

Dimitri watched him stand, taking in the hulking shape. Dimitri towered over most and didn’t look up to anyone, but there was a comfort in standing in Dedue’s shadow. He felt small and safe and almost inconsequential under the man’s hand. Dimitri bowed his head before he was caught staring. It became all the more harder when Dedue began to remove his jacket. 

Dimitri watched as shoulders rolled, as one arm at a time it slid off his shoulders, as the under shirt did little to hide the shape of broad strong muscles. He walked across the room where a small mountain of fresh towels lay stacked up and looked over his shoulder, already working on the buttons of his shirt. 

“Your highness?” he asked. 

Right. 

Apparent nerves ran over Dimitri as he rose to his feet and mimicked Dedue, trying to undo the ties and buttons of his own shirt. He kept his gaze down and took brisk strides to join Dedue at his side. Gone was his normal confidence, comfortable enough in the presence of his retainer to simply be. To simply exist under Dedue’s attention. He slipped his own shirt off and glanced up at the big man, only to find a smile gracing his features. 

Dimitri’s heart tripped. 

Dimitri cleared his throat and tried to refocus. Dedue took his shirt from his hands and gently folded it, setting it aside with his own clothes. Dimitri went for a towel. 

“So what first?” Dimitri asked. 

“First we clean,” Dedue said, removing his belt. “Then we soak.” 

Dimitri listened to the tell tale clink and slide of leather and tried not to look. 

He looked. 

Dedue pulled his pants down over the curve of his hip, taking smallclothes with it, revealing more and more of that dark, delicious, scarred skin. The way powerful legs bent, showing off a plump ass, and between them. . . 

Dimitri refocused on himself before he saw. He could feel the heat radiating from his face. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Dimitri wrung with the towel between his hands, unable to appreciate the soft texture. 

“You may disrobe to your comfort,” Dedue instructed, tying a towel around his waist. 

Dedue had seen Dimitri nude before. Plenty of times. He’d bathed in front of Dedue, as soon as Dedue had demanded it. As soon as he was raised from the dead to once again insist that Dimitri be human. Suddenly, it was far to difficult to duplicate those moments. Not with Dedue so undressed next to him, a gleaming feast for the eyes. 

Dimitri threw down his towel and took the painful steps to get naked. 

Dedue dutifully took each article of clothing to fold while simultaneously giving Dimitri respect and privacy. Graceful with each action and in his manners, a feat greater than most humans that Dimitri had once taken for granted. 

Never again. 

He watched Dedue’s hands as he gently folded cloth into neat even squares and piled them next to the towels. All the while fumbling with the knot of his own towel to keep some kind of modicum of humility. If his body would allow him even that. 

“This way,” Dedue said and lead the way into the larger bathing room. 

It was a luxury. Chipped white tiling covered the walls and the floor, once painted with ornate decor that had been scrubbed away by time. Set up more for utility and less for design. Roughs of troughs for cold bathing lined the center. In the far back was a steaming shared bath of hot water. 

And they were alone. 

Dedue’s back was bare and all its glorious detail was given to Dimitri. He stared at the starburst scar, the one in the lower corner, just shy of his spine. He had seen the spear go through it, he had watched Dedue fall. Dimitri itched to trace it, to bow his head and place his lips over it in silent prayer. To thank the Goddess and whatever Duscur Gods that had been listening and protected Dedue that day. The ones that brought him back to Dimitri. 

“Sit here your highness,” Dedue said. 

They sat in front of faucets, pumps that ushered water into a trough. Dedue placed small buckets in there to collect the water, one for Dimitri, one for his own, complete with small ladles. 

“Caspar will dump the bucket over his head,” Dedue said, pumping cold water into the buckets. “But you should be careful of your eye.” 

“Right,” Dimitri said. 

Once set up, Dimitri watched Dedue for his lead. He hadn’t known what he was expecting, but when Dedue went for his hair tie, Dimitri’s heart beat a little faster. White hair spilled out and cascaded down his neck in soft waves. And Dimitri realized he’d never seen that before. When they were younger, Dedue’s hair had always been a little long, but it seemed in his short death, Dedue’s hair had grown. Soft and silky and once again Dimitri yearned to run his fingers through it. 

Dedue pulled the ladle from his bucket of water and poured the cool liquid over his head. As simple and smooth as he would when he was cooking. That long hair clung to his face, to his neck, to the top of his back, becoming a second skin. Water caught on long pale eyelashes, in small droplets of dew. 

Crystal blue eyes looked to Dimitri and Dimitri realized he was staring. Again. Like an open mouth fish. 

Dimitri was quick to turn back to the trough and his own bucket. He went for his ladle and carefully tilting his head, poured the water over his hair. It was chilly and goosebumps rose across his skin. He tilted his head forward, trying to get the back and letting water dribble down his neck. It was impossible to get all his hair wet without touching his eye. 

Those gentle fingers touched his chin.

“Let me, your highness,” Dedue said. 

Keeping his eye closed, consumed in the known place of his darkness, he allowed Dedue to tilt his head back. Somehow, the water was less cold when he poured it across Dimitri’s brow. 

“If you like,” Dedue said. “I can clean your back.” 

Dimitri’s brow furrowed and he pressed his mouth into a thin line, but nodded none the less. Dedue had cleaned him when he first returned, had scrubbed away the blood and grime and painful memories. But that was before feelings had begun to stir. It was before Dimitri had _noticed_. To have Dedue touch him then was less than innocent. 

He turned on the little seat and bent over. A few quite _splishes_ and soon enough Dimitri felt the cool touch of a wet sponge on his back. He flinched, more from the touch than the temperature, and Dedue hesitated. He waited until Dimitri slumped back down in relaxation before continuing. 

Foamy soap sloshed down his back as Dedue scrubbed, careful of fresh wounds, careful to get every spot he could. Up Dimitri’s neck, down his spine, at his sides. Hands that did so much more than clean him. They praised him. A touch that treated him like he was so much more than a killer. Like he was a man. 

There was an _effect_. 

“I would like to try the hot bath now,” Dimitri croaked. 

“You haven’t finished, your highness,” Dedue pointed out. He could be a real mother hen when he wanted to. 

Dimitri looked over his shoulder and smiled up at his friend. His _friend_. 

“Isn’t that the appeal of this place?” he asked. 

Dedue sat back and sighed. Quiet moments of communication that Dimitri had taken years to learn to read. That was as frustrated as Dedue would get with his king. 

“Very well,” he said. “I am going to finish cleaning up.” 

Dimitri nodded and rose to his feet, very pointedly keeping his back to Dedue so the man wouldn’t see the _effect_ he had on him. 

Dimitri kept his towel on as he tiptoed into the heat. The water steamed, more from catching in the cold air, but it prickled against Dimitri’s legs all the same. A pain, tame compared to any he felt, that gave way quickly to a pleasurable hug of feverish hot around his legs. He retreated into the water, letting the cotton bunch up as it fell heavy with damp, trying in futile effort to hide his bodily reaction. 

From his vantage point, he could watch Dedue. Watch as he carefully ran a suds up sponge over his neck, watch the corded muscle rotate with each scrub. Objectified by a lone eye that took in all the details that were offered to him. Between the heat and the stare, Dimitri’s eyes dried out and began to water. He blinked and stared down at the hot bath. 

The water was a hazy shade of green, whether from the salts or the tile Dimitri, did not know. It prickled at his skin, over his arms and chest, pressing against wounds he didn’t realize were still open. He could see his reflection dancing over the water, wavering with his every movement. Dark circles and burbled skin around an empty socket. 

And past his reflection, the painful erection between his legs. 

He groaned, tilting his head forward, and pressing his face against the water. 

“Is everything alright, your highness?” 

Damp bangs clung to Dimitri’s face as he looked up. Dedue stood, one leg on the lip of the tub, halted and on full display. Broad and protective with skin Dimitri could practically taste. Like soap and blood and overbearing loyalty. The towel had crept up Dedue’s thigh, just barely hiding shadows that Dimitri wanted to know more about. He could swim forward, bury his face between those tree trunk thighs, find more. 

Was he alright?

_No_

“Yes,” Dimitri rasped. 

Dedue remained frozen, assessing and knowing just as well as Dimitri that the answer was a lie. But not finding a clear way to fix Dimitri’s ailments, he stepped into the tub. 

He settled against the back wall with a sigh, the water coming to rest somewhere under his chest, still keeping that beautiful body on display. He may have been just out of Dimitri’s vision, he couldn’t look at him without turning his head completely, and did not know if that was a good thing or now. 

There was space between them. A reasonable amount of space. A sensible space between two colleagues. Just close enough to share one another’s company, but far enough that they could not touch. 

Dimitri could feast on the tension. 

Not being able to actually see Dedue made it worse. The heat did nothing to quell the crawl over his skin, hairs sticking out with the desire to be touched. Maybe to run those gentle hands over his back again, over his face. To hold him, wrap his arms around him. 

He’d been wanting it for weeks. 

Dedue had died. Dedue had come back. And at the sudden shock of him on the battlefield, all Dimitri wanted to do was drop his lance, run into the big man’s arms, and never let go. A entirely human fire had ignited within his chest, turning him back into a man. A man who just wanted to be loved. 

In more ways than one. 

Dimitri turned his head again. 

Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Any of it. Why had he been so blind to what Dedue _looked like_. Shoulders and arms that could swing an axe to cleave a man in two, that could trap Dimitri in a tight embrace. Large hands that Dimitri had felt so clinical on his skin before that he wished would touch him out of love and lust instead of duty. A thick waist Dimitri could wrap his legs around. A tree trunk of a man he wanted to climb. 

Dimitri was broken and he longed to be broken time and time again by the man stewing next to him. 

Sensing Dimitri’s unblinking stare, Dedue turned to look back at him. Honey smooth, barely disturbing the water. A quiet strong presence Dimitri’s rage would never match. 

And simply. Stared his king down. 

Dedue’s face was a mask, a closed book, hidden by secrets and feelings he didn’t share. A pain in his eyes that echoed Dimitri’s, the strength in his jaw, full lips that Dimitri wanted to slump against. 

Dimitri should have looked away, but he couldn’t. Lost in his own mind, the heat swirled around him, dehydrated him, dizzied him, a storm centering its single eye fixed solely on Dedue. He’d be given away soon enough. 

“I think thats enough,” Dedue’s lips said. 

It was enough. He’d had enough. His hands curled into fists, pulling the soaked towel taut over a pained cock. The heat and tension pulling in his stomach, wrapped around his sack. His body thrummed with the want to close that minute gap between them. 

Dedue had seen him. Had heard his thoughts. Dimitri had lost his control of words to the war. He used to be so eloquent, fluid as he was with a spear, but his soul had been ripped away from him and was only now just beginning to be put back together. 

Dedue would put him back together. 

Instead, Dedue rose to his feet and it was so much worse. Water cascaded down his body, travelling in rivulets over shapely muscle until hidden by a towel that clung. His hair draped over one side of his neck, fanning out brilliantly. Dimitri continued to stare, to not blink, to wait for Dedue to read his mind. 

“We should rinse,” Dedue said instead and held out a hand. 

Dimitri stared at the palm. That open, kind, gentle palm that didn’t know where Dimitri wanted to put it. He counted the scars and the callouses, the rings in his fingertips, before blinking back up to Dedue. He swallowed heavy and it could be heard over the trickling of water. 

“I think I’ll stay a little longer,” he rasped. 

Dedue’s brows rose and his hand closed. He retreated, standing upright, unknowing of the hungry thoughts Dimitri had. 

One day, Dimitri would build up the words, to let them spill out. That he loved Dedue, that he’d probably always loved Dedue, from the moment he saw him among the ruins and held out his hand as Dedue had countless times after. That he wanted Dedue so much more than he thought possible. That everything would come pouring out of him at once and he needed his retainer to hold them back inside, to keep him whole. 

For now, he’d have to jerk off into one of those drains. 

“Don’t stay too long, your highness,” Dedue said, coming out like a sigh, like a laugh. “You’ll dehydrate yourself.” 

“Mm.” Dimitri nodded and his chin dipped below the surface. 

Dedue shifted to move but something stopped him. He paused, staring down. Straight down. Down through clear water. To the one out of place _thing_ in the room. 

Dimitri’s blood froze. His body entered rigor mortis. He readied himself, like an animal being hunted, like he was ready to spring at an enemy. Waiting for the oncoming onslaught from the one man he wanted everything but from. 

Dedue stared at it for a long moment, in a similar state of stillness. His eyes, only his eyes, moved up to look, meeting Dimitri’s. 

Then subtle, quiet, gentle Dedue smiled. 

He smiled. 

At Dimitri. 

Dimitri wanted to react. He wanted to scream to have the words pour out of him, to stand and follow Dedue out, to follow his every request, his every command, anything he could ever want, Dimitri would give it to him. Instead he swallowed his tongue and slid down further on the wall, his lower face hiding underneath the water. 

Smile fixed in place, looking Dimitri squarely in the eyes, Dedue turned. He stepped out of the tub, the water trickling against the ground in droplets and the hollow sound of it echoing off the walls. Dedue had one foot on the tile when he let go of his towel. Weighed heavy from the mass of water it soaked up, it hit the side of the tub with a wet _thwap_ , leaving nothing more to the imagination. 

Dimitri’s eye widened enough to hurt as he took in the rest of Dedue. 

Dedue didn’t spare a single glance as he exited the emptied bath house, rounding the corner to the showers, leaving Dimitri alone with his thoughts and a brand new memory. He puffed out a breath and it bubbled before his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnnnggggggggg DEDUE
> 
> And ugh poor Dimitri needs to learn how to human again
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	27. Bernie/Raph - size difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry!” he shouted. “I’m sorry!” 
> 
> “No I’m sorry!” Bernadetta said sitting up. “Go ahead do it! I’m not . . . I’m sorry this is my fault.” 
> 
> “No no it isn’t! Don’t say that.” 
> 
> “I’m sorry!” 
> 
> “No _I’m_ sorry!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **KINKS:  
> **  
> . . . NONE?
> 
> Like seriously, this is just het cis vanilla sex. Its cute as hell, its a first time story, but the kinkiest thing going on is Bernie getting her confidence and taking control. Which she deserves <3

Raphael leaned over Bernadetta and eclipsed her in shadow. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said. 

“No no no.” Bernadetta shook her head furiously. “I want to.” 

Although she said that, her body language said otherwise. Her shoulders were hiked high and her hands were clasped in front of her chest. Her eyes looked bigger than normal, wider. The way she had looked at Raphael when they had first met. She looked two seconds from running away. 

“Are you sure?” he asked for the millionth time. 

Bernadetta nodded. It was as if she couldn’t speak, her lips pressed into a thin line and no words could get out. Only a quiet whine heard behind it, words trying to escape. 

Raphael sighed and tried to trust what she said, not what he was reading. He sat back, taking in his girlfriend. Her hair was down, splayed out in a halo across the pillow. With her hands clasped in almost a prayer, her arms covered up her breasts. Her legs were pressed tight together, thighs shaking and knees knocking. Even still, she was beautiful. All soft curves and strong lean muscle. Shining hair and big beautiful eyes. 

Raphael just wished she could see it. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’m going to go in.” 

Another nod, another squeak, another failure to speak. 

As if handling a frightened animal, which wasn’t too far off, Raphael gingerly placed his hands on her thighs. He tried to coax them apart, thighs shaking under his hands, and managed to get them open just an inch before Bernadetta squeaked and slapped them closed again. Raphael’s grip tightened out of worry. 

“Really,” he said. “We don’t have to.” 

“No! I want to!” Bernadetta shouted. “I really do! I’m just. . .” 

She fretted, chewing on her lip, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I’m just nervous.” 

Her voice was so tiny and pathetic. Raphael just wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her until she stopped shaking. He was fine to wait, but this had been her idea. Bernadetta wanted to be with him and who was Raphael to deny her anything. 

He supposed he was nervous too. 

“I can do it,” she said. “Just let me do it.” 

“Okay,” Raphael said, sitting back on his heels. 

Bernadetta let out a long breath. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes again. 

“Okay Bernie,” she whispered. “Okay.” 

Just as slow as Raphael had, she spread open her legs. Bit by bit, she parted her thighs. Her feet edged across the bed, pulling on the sheets. She bumped into his knees and yelped again, a small thing under her breath. Raphael held his breath, afraid that if he said something she might freeze up again. He scooted backwards, giving her the room to continue. Bernadetta just barely made it around his knees, her legs spread just enough to be on display, but not enough for him to fit. 

“There,” she squeaked, her face hidden behind her hands. “There I did it.” 

Raphael looked back up at his girlfriend, worry etched on to his face. 

“Go ahead,” she said. “You can go in me now.” 

The words _’go in me’_ were said so quick and high pitched, Raphael almost missed them. 

Raphael pressed his mouth into a thin line and moved forwards, sliding in between her legs. His sheer girth pushed her wider and she gasped behind her hands when she was shoved wider still. Raphael wrapped his hand around his cock, hard from just the sight of her bare body, and ashamed that it still was at the sight of her apprehension. The damn thing had a mind of its own. 

He jerked it a few strokes and lined the cock head up with her cunt. He leaned forward once again, hovering over her and casting her into shadow. 

The small noises Bernadetta made caused Raphael to stall, but she had asked. 

He wet his lips and looked down to the spot where their bodies met and gently, ever so gently, pushed. 

“Ah!” Bernadetta screamed. “Ah! Ah!” 

Her hands flew from her face and she stared down at the same spot in abject horror. Her shaking picked up double time, her hands curled into fists around her face. 

“Ah!” 

Raphael pulled out and away immediately. He flew off her, trying to put as much space between them as possible. 

“I’m sorry!” he shouted. “I’m sorry!” 

“No I’m sorry!” Bernadetta said sitting up. “Go ahead do it! I’m not . . . I’m sorry this is my fault.” 

“No no it isn’t! Don’t say that.” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“No _I’m_ sorry!” 

They sat across from each other in the dark of the room. No candle light, to better hide Bernadetta. Her comfort far greater than Raphael’s desire to see her. He sighed, keeping his distance from his girlfriend. He sighed, longingly looking at their discarded clothes heaped up in shadow on the floor. 

“It doesn’t have to be now,” he said. “I really don’t mind waiting.” 

“Well I do,” Bernadetta said, quiet and petulant. 

Raphael sighed again, a great heavy thing. Even in the dark he could see the way she hid her face, how her knees curled up to her chest. Pale skin that glowed in the dim lighting. All he wanted was to make her happy. 

“What if we just kissed?” he asked. 

She peeked out from behind her fingers. 

“You like kissing right?” he tried again. 

Bernadetta nodded in quick little jerks. 

“Then how about we kiss each other for a little bit,” he said. “And see if that goes anywhere.” 

Bernadetta held still for a long moment. She gave a big sigh of her own and let her hands fall to her chin, her legs relaxing down the bed. 

“Okay,” she said shakily. “I’d like that.” 

Raphael smiled and crawled over to her again. His hulking mass once again encapsulated her, dominating her, but he was as gentle as a kitten. Bernadetta, still trembling and apprehensive, lay back down again, settling against the pillows. He held still, waiting for her to initiate, wanting it to be Bernadetta’s choice. Her hand was cool and gentle as he grazed against his cheek and Raphael took that as the invitation to lean in. 

Their first kiss had been so tentative, Raphael was sure Bernadetta was going to break under his lips. She had insisted on that one too then all but retreated, screaming into the distance. By the next time she was a bit more courageous. And then the next. And the next. Until kissing had become second nature to them. 

Raphael knew how to tilt his head in just the right way. Bernadetta held onto his shoulders for support, as if she might drown. He kept his space until she pulled closer. She held her breath until he melted against her. 

Tasting of cream and berries, sweet and melting in its cup. Bernadetta was a soft puddle of a woman, instantly warming to his big hands. A polite touch that went no where but her waist. Reverent and respectful of her body and boundaries. 

They pulled apart with a quiet smack and a soft suck of air. Bernadetta’s doe eyed stare darted down his face, the one that had once scared her, down his neck, down his arm. Her hand slid over his, barely covering up the back, and gently guided it down to his hip. The touch that had started all this in the first place. 

Bernadetta swallowed. Raphael could hear it. 

But kiss he had said. Just kiss. No expectations. So kiss her he would. 

He kissed her cheek. He kissed her neck. He kissed her collar bone. All the while listening to Bernadetta’s breathing pick up. Was she hyperventilating or stimulated? Was she whining in fear or in want? Raphael was ready to move off her, jerking in reaction, when her hand clamped down on his head and pushed. 

“Keep going,” her voice warbled and Raphael obeyed. 

He kissed her chest. He kissed her stomach. Bernadetta’s hand was delicate on his head, threaded through thick locks, as she coaxed his kisses between her legs. 

He kissed her cunt. 

Bernadetta squeaked, a song so light and airy it might have been the air vacating her lungs. Her hand stand in Raphael’s hair, stroking encouragement through its waves. Her favorite part of him along with his smile and his arms and his general warmth. She had closed her eyes and travelled her touch over his body in an effort to no longer fear it, stopping for far to long to pat and pet his golden crown. 

Raphael’s tongue got to work. He had little finesse, a blunderbuss of energy and enthusiasm. He licked up her slit, lapped at her clit, sucked on the bud. Minute squeaks and sing song notes came from above him, obviously enjoying his onslaught. 

Thick fingers slid into her fold and instantly crooked, finding the textured flesh within. Bernadetta’s hips left the bed, two hands clamped on the back of Raphael’s head, grinding his tongue and nose into her wet. 

“Raph. . . Raphael,” she groaned. “There. Right there.” 

Raphael looked up. He was strong enough he could have bucked her hands off his head, but he would never push against her. Bernadetta was arched off the bed, head thrown back, eyes closed, lost in the images in her mind, in the sheer feel of him. Raphael smiled and continued to pleasure his little lover. 

The room descended into into soft pants, the almost obscene squelching of Raphael’s rapidling moving tongue, the air popping as his fingers dug in and out of her. Petting her kitten soft, not fucking. A simple slide in, a lap over her clit, a moan escaped her lips. Curl the fingers, lick the fold, Bernadetta’s nails across his scalp. Her breaths, his name, growing higher and higher in pitch.

Bernadetta let loose a half garbled squeak. Her hips left the bed in a violent jolt. Out of some basic need, she clamped his head in place. Raphael didn’t let up. Diligent as ever, he kept working her over through her orgasm, not that her archer’s tight grip would let him do otherwise. 

Bernadetta found bliss with a soft sigh and a gentle coo. Her hands went slack and her body deflated into the sheets, melting into the puddle of human mush she had proven she could be. A contented smile twitched onto her face, a nervous laugh lived under her breath. 

Raphael sat up, his lips shiny with her wet. He licked at the corner absentmindedly, watching her chest heave with each ragged breath. 

“Raphael,” she whispered from a dream, her eyes opened dimly. “That was. . .” 

He smiled, supremely proud of his work. 

“Better?” he chirped. 

“Yes,” she sighed in song. 

They sat in the dark of the room, Raphael a hulking mass between Bernadetta’s wide splayed legs. Even in the din, they could still make out each other’s faces, the gentle smiles they shared. The nerves had been shed, leaving behind only them in their comfort, their most favored place to be. Raphael basked in it, ignoring the painful erection between his legs. 

“Okay,” Bernadetta said quietly. “I’m ready.” 

Raphael’s smile dropped. 

“But. . . you just. . .” He pointed down at her cunt. She gave him a secretive little smile. 

“Please lie on your back, Raphael,” she said. 

Comprehension was slow to descend over Raphael, but once it did, he perked up a little straighter. 

“Oh,” he said between rapid blinks. “I. . . oh okay.” 

He did as he was told and lumbered over her petite body. The bed they shared had always been too small for the two of them. It was too short for Raphael’s long legs, but he could have filled up the space on his own. With another body in the bed, no matter how petite, it was one body too much. They had to sleep still and wrapped around each other, which was never a chore. But in dancing around each other, they shifted with strained careful movement, in an effort to both stay on the bed. 

Once Raphael was on his back, Bernadetta climbed aboard.

Slim legs straddled wide hips and she had just enough room to keep herself hovered over his hard dick. She wrapped a delicate hand around its girth, pulling out a clipped gasp from her lover beneath her. A new confidence had found Bernadetta in that position, giving her all the power to this new adventure of theirs. 

She met his eyes. 

“Are you ready?” she asked in a still shaky breath. 

Raphael could only nod enthusiastically. 

Slowly, steadily, oh so carefully, Bernadetta lowered herself onto his thick dick. 

The going was slow. He was so large in every way possible, a gargantuan mass that could fill any doorway and constantly cast her in his loving shadow. He was _proportional_. The girth of him stretched her out, spread her wide. Her legs shook as she lowered herself inch by wet inch. That tinkling little squeak pressed out of her as her back arched and her eyes pressed closed. 

Not knowing where to put his hands, Raphael left them hovered over her, holding onto only solid air. They shook, wanting to help, all while filling a warm heat he had never felt before. With gentleness and guile, he lowered his hands to touch quivering hips, a silent cheer to spur her on. 

“B-bernadetta. . ?” he gasped, sounding more like her. 

Bernadetta dropped, her ass hitting his thighs in a quiet smack and another high pitched squeak. She sat frozen, arched taut as a bow. Filled to the brim with him, a choice made under her own power. Under her control. Her head rolled, lolling like a ragdoll, until she blinked her eyes open again, one at a time. Having gone slightly cross-eyed, she smiled drunkenly down at him, pleased with her efforts. 

“I did it,” she sang. 

“You did.” Raphael’s voice warbled. His hands on her thighs shook in restraint, trying not to give in and fuck up into her. “Bernie. . . I. . . uuhh. . .” 

“Oh.” Her mouth formed into a perfect O, her hands coming up in light fists under her chin. “Yes. Right.” 

Just as gentle and careful and slow, she rested her hands down on his abdomen. And with all the strength she had left in her legs, she pumped them up, then lowered them back down. Bernadetta’s eyes fluttered closed again and she moaned out a little _’ooooo’_ as she dropped. Raphael tried so very hard, keeping still, his grip tightening on her legs. He whimpered, thoroughly enjoying the show. 

The moment she acclimated became clear when she picked up speed. Her legs pumped as she rode up and down his cock. She breathed heavy, eyes closed in concentration, simply feeling him deep inside her. 

Their breathing synced. The bed squeaked in time. The soft squelch of their coupling danced under the rest of their song. 

Raphael’s hip twitched, fucking up into her, and Bernadetta moaned, her head rocking back. 

“Again,” she breathed, so he did. 

They began to move against one another, neither one taking the lead, but fucking as a one unit. Raphael still seethed restraint through bared teeth and Bernadetta gasped lightly on every pump of her legs. 

With too much force, Raphael’s hips left the bed. 

“Raph!” Bernadetta squeaked as her head was thrown back. 

She flopped forward onto his chest and he instantly wrapped his arms around her. He held her close, enveloping her in his mass, his hands splayed out over her tiny body. He continued to fuck up into her, even though she had gone soft and compliant. She breathed open mouthed against his neck, trying to kiss it, but failing under his onslaught. A single hand pawed at her ass, holding her open, until finally, with a gritting high pitched whine, he came. 

“A-ah!” Bernadetta’s head flew up, feeling him pulsate inside her. 

They stared each other down, eyes wide and filled with love, breathing each other’s air. Waiting through bated breath as Raphael finished. 

When it was over, they didn’t move. Raphael’s chest heaved with each heavy breath, Bernadetta’s tiny body riding on each one. 

Bernadetta was the first to laugh. A light giggling thing that made fairies dance in Raphael’s chest. He joined in with her, rumbling low enough to vibrate her body. She threw her arms around his neck and he held her close. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” she whispered into his neck. 

“No it wasn’t,” he said, patting back her air. 

“Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me or does Bernie ship well with pretty much everyone? 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	28. Dimitri/Claude - shotgunning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Better?” he asked. 
> 
> Dimitri closed his eye and rocked his head back against the pillow. He deflated, sinking into the comfort. If he had the power to be surprised, he would have been that his body had more to give. 
> 
> “Extremely,” he rumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  SHOTGUNNING**
> 
> You can really kind of tell that I'm winding down and these fills are becoming less filth and more atmospheric? Like I got a story to tell and less 'and then they fuuuuuuucked.' I dunno I think so.

The outside world was a deafening level of subdued. The odd hush between battle that was thick with anticipation. After one bloody fight was done, assessing the dead and licking wounds, preparing for the next one. The deep tension that was a taut as a pulled string. Frayed and strained. The mood of it palpable on the tongue. 

The sun hung low and blanketed the world in an eerie shade of blood red, glistening off the grey of smoke and dust and dried blood. Soldiers and troops found quiet corners to bathe in it, to ignore it. From the lowliest grunt all the way up to the lords that lead them. 

An in between world that lived in the spaces between nightmare and thought. 

Claude and Dimitri languished within their tent, simultaneously ignoring the outside and relishing in it. They lounged back on pillows and blankets, trinkets from Claude’s home. Outside, Claude’s wyvern waited, curled up and asleep, wallowing in the same thick subdue her master did. Her soft snores playing a musical hymn over the quiet of the camp. The red sun shone through the orange walls of the tent, bathing the lords in warmth. 

Dimitri had his head tilted back, feeling the heat prickle over his skin. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but his body was too heavy. He couldn’t move his legs. Spill and seed seeped between his legs, staining the blanket he was draped across. The weight of the world heavy on him like a comforting blanket. A reprieve from the anxieties had felt prior to battle. 

He turned his head slowly and examined the Head of the Leicester Alliance. 

Claude was lounged on his side, leaning against a pillow, watching Dimitri fade in and out of consciousness. He smiled at Dimitri’s attention, his lips curling around the end of a long pipe. He drew from it, the pull of breath was quiet, but it might as well have been a ringing bell within the stillness of that tent. The embers in the bowl crackled and danced, glowing in the afternoon haze. He blew out a thin line of smoke, purpled in the soft light. 

“Better?” he asked. 

Dimitri closed his eye and rocked his head back against the pillow. He deflated, sinking into the comfort. If he had the power to be surprised, he would have been that his body had more to give. 

“Extremely,” he rumbled. 

Claude chuffed out a little laugh. He leaned back, lifting one leg, just enough so that the blanket draped over his hips fell and exposed his own well used body. Dimitri’s gaze swept over the flesh, having already been well introduced to it, but still enamored all the same. When he managed to look back up to Claude’s face, all he got back was a knowing amusement and another puff of smoke. 

“Hmm,” Dimitri hummed and rolled on to his back. He lifted one heavy hand and traced the intricate patterns stitched into the thick fabric. 

“When was the last time you got fucked?” Claude asked, his voice laced with the sound of smoke curling thick in the back of his throat.

Dimitri closed his eye. He was far too comfortable to be bothered. 

“You already asked me that,” he said. His throat hurt to speak. 

“Yeah,” Claude said. “But you never answered.” 

Dimitri kept tracing the thread. The bumps as they went in and out of canvas. They were nothing but behind closed eyes they were dragons, the scent of a beautiful man, the soft rub of fur. Dimitri’s head lolled, too heavy to stay facing up. He rubbed against the fur of his own cloak, discarded early on in their romp. It was matted with the blood of his enemies, rife with the stink of years gone by. 

It would never be clean. 

“Hey.” Claude leaned over and pressed fingertips to Dimitri’s shoulder. 

“Hm?” Dimitri hummed. 

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” 

Dimitri glanced up at Claude. The light caught in his hair, glinting off his earring. It shimmered across bare skin, shadows dipping into the definition of musculature. His eyes pierced Dimitri and saw right through him, as they always have. 

“Some time,” Dimitri croaked. 

“What?” Claude asked. 

“Its been. . . some time since I last. . .” 

“Ah.” Claude’s smile curled with the smoke that still wafted in the room. He sidled up to Dimitri’s side, sitting on his hip, and took another pull. “So is that before the war some time or. . .” 

Dimitri’s heavy hand reached up and fingers traced the unshaven stubble that danced across Claude’s skin. To a novice, Claude’s confidence was unwavering. But after hours of ‘stress relief,’ as Claude had called it, Dimitri was beginning to recognize the little cracks when Claude was touched with the modicum of gentleness. Of connection. 

“Yes,” Dimitri said. “Before the war.” 

Claude laughed and the smoke curled from his lips, twisting in fractals that spun orange and purple in the air. The furthest thing from violence. 

“I could tell,” Claude said. “There was a lot pent up.” 

He rested a broad hand across the scar on Dimitri’s chest, fingers splayed, if anything just to touch. Just to feel. There was no possessiveness, no urgency, just a physical connection between the two of them. 

A long powerful leg crossed over Dimitri’s hips and Claude settled his weight comfortably against the king. He assessed Dimitri as he took another pull from the pipe, his eyes heavy lidded and glowing like green fire. He set the long instrument aside and wrapped his hands around Dimitri’s face. 

Dimitri had never been held so delicately. 

Claude leaned down and once again met Dimitri’s lips. 

Smoke and the wet of Claude’s tongue poured like water past his lips. Claude sealed their mouths, open and wanting. Dimitri breathed in deep, tasting the burn, tasting the spice, tasting the heat of Claude’s tongue. He met him, moving like a slow river. Behind closed lids he could see the sparkle of slow motion, hear a song that played for no one but him. 

A thin line of smoke trailed between them as Claude pulled away. Dimitri blinked slowly. The weight of an army rested on his face. Smoke, thick and voluminous, oozed past his lips, through his nose. It seeped from every pore, cleansing him, taking the weight of the world away from him. If only for an afternoon. 

Claude smiled, pleased with his work. A hand trailed down Dimitri’s chest, one he knew the talents of, and found his cock. Half hard again. Pent up, as Claude had said. Claude stroked him, his smile growing no more and no less. When he was satisfied with its length, he eased back, slipping the cock easily through an already used hole. 

Claude sighed, his body going boneless as he sat upright. His head rocked back. He was a mountain, a tower, a beacon in the dark night of war. A clear star that shone brightest in the sky just before burning out. 

Like that, he sat. 

Dimtiri’s heavy hands ran up powerful thighs, touching what was allotted to him. He could barely feel anymore. The touch was like electricity under dead skin. 

“Are you going to move?” Dimitri asked. 

“No,” Claude said, far away from that place. His head was rocked back, his chin pointed to the sky, his eyes closed in bliss. “I would like to just exist.” 

Dimitri nodded and rested back against the blankets, sinking into them as they folded around him, encapsulated the two of them, protected them from the dying world. 

The sun dipped down below the horizon. The tent dropped into the dim blue of night. And together they existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this one, its just chill.
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	29. Byleth/Edelgard, Byleth/Claude, Byleth/Dimitri - time freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  TIME FREEZE**
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:  
>  DUBCON**
> 
> By the nature of this kink, its kinda dubcon. I mean at the top here I can tell you all three heads are into getting boned, but theres no explicit 'yes do this to me' so. . . dub con
> 
> And also don't know what to tell you, I just like this . . . kink. . . thing. Its weird and I'm a fan.

Byleth wished that moment could last forever.

They held Edelgard’s face in their hands, their lips pressed gently together. A chaste kiss, simple and sweet. Edelgard’s lips were soft against their own. 

All Byleth wanted was to hold in that moment, freeze it, distill it down to its most natural essence. And keep it forever. 

Byleth and Edelgard parted, sharing the moment together. They stared each other down, quietly examining one anothers faces, before Edelgard laughed. A sweet thing, so strange on the tyrant’s face. In the end, still just a woman. She leaned in for another kiss. 

Byleth froze time. 

Edelgard sat on the bed, hands raised to hold Byleth, mouth pursed ready for a kiss. Her eyes were closed, pale lashes on her cheeks. She sat with one leg on the bed, her skirts pulling at her thighs. 

Beauty incarnate. 

Byleth reached out to touch one of those thighs. They ran their hand up the smooth skin, pushing up against the fabric. Their eyes flitted, looking up at their lover, still frozen stock still. 

Byleth shifted on the bed, going to their knees. They pushed their body into Edelgard’s outstretched hands. As they did, Edelgard’s arms moved, accommodating Byleth’s body between them. Byleth took Edelgard by the hand, pliant and easy as a doll. They placed Edelgard’s hand palm first on their chest, unmoving slightly curled fingers bumping into the buttons of their shirt. Byleth rolled their head back as they trailed Edelgard’s unmoving, ungroping hand down their body, over their hip, just close to touching their most heated, wanted of places. 

They could maneuver Edelgard’s fingers. Push them to a coiled curl or to splayed and open, but Byleth decided they would rather play with their doll. They dropped Edelgard’s hand and it slowly sprung back up into place, framed and ready to hold Byleth’s body. 

Byleth slunk off the bed, sinking to their knees before their emperor. They pulled on Edelgard’s hips, shifting her on the bed, until both her knees were curled over the side. The knee that had been propped up sat awkwardly off the bed, her leg spread open, toes pointed like a dancer. Byleth looked up at Edelgard’s body, at the way her hands framed the air and her head cocked in place. Once again, they ran their hands up Edelgard’s skirts. 

Powerful thighs spread under their hands. The skirt bunched up, catching on the bed. Byleth scooted forward, pushing their body between Edelgard’s knees, and her legs spread bonelessly, much as her hands had. The pointed foot pushed against the bed, until Byleth pulled it around their body, hooking it to press against their back. They flipped up Edelgard’s skirt to reveal their prize. 

Edelgard’s pale tights covered her up, but Byleth could still make out the shape of her mound. Byleth ran their hand over it and once again looked up to their lover. 

It was odd to touch Edelgard like that and get no reaction. No sweet twitches, no musical gasps. Just a frozen woman waiting to touch her lover. 

Odd. But good. 

Byleth dug their fingers into the fabric of the tights and poked a hole in them. They squeezed more fingers in and tore the hole bigger, revealing neatly placed smallclothes. With one crooked finger, they pulled the fabric aside to reveal a wet cunt. Time froze and so did the damp between Edelgard’s legs. Glistening, even in the shadow of her body, wanting and waiting forever in that endless second. 

Byleth pressed their tongue to it. 

The heat, the wet, the tang, all of it still under Byleth’s waggle. Edelgard’s cunt moved as Byleth’s tongue did and no more. No jerk of the hips, no hands in their hair. Even the seeping wet seemed to only come from Byleth’s tongue. 

Byleth moved in closer, scooching their knees flush against the bed, sliding their hands under Edelgard’s thighs. She listed backwards, her whole body rigid with hands still wrapped around nothing. There was no danger of falling back, simply tilting in the thick air of frozen time. 

In went Byleth’s tongue. They moved their head back and forth, bobbing in and out, fucking their Emporer, unbenknownst to her. They ran their hand around her thigh, rubbing their thumb on her clit in little circles. Unheaded work on an unmoving doll. 

It wasn’t until Byleth’s jaw locked up, until their tongue had run dry, until the fiery burn of a cramp raged through their arm, that they made the choice to stop. Slowly, they extracted themself off their Emperor, tongue out and watching the fine line of spittle connect them to Edelgard. Only then, did time start again. 

Edelgard gasped in surprise, a high pitch ghostly scream. She fell back to the bed, her legs twitching and convulsing as her cunt matched the rhythm. A long and loud moan raked through her body and her hand clamped down over her exposure in an effort to still the sudden onslaught of a surprise orgasm. Legs kicking, hips bucking, and a groan between clenched teeth that would not stop. All at once hit with the wave that had been beating her down. 

With a long suffering sigh, Edelgard melted into mush against the sheets. A boneless pile basking in the summer sun that filtered through the window. Legs splayed and cunt still on display, catching a cold with it all wet like so. 

It was a struggle for her to raise her head again to look at the deviant between her legs. 

Byleth only smiled pleasantly, lips puffy and entirely too proud of themselves. 

Edelgard fell back onto the pillows with a huff. 

____

Byleth wished the moment could last forever. 

There was a second, a moment, just a space for them and Claude to hide. Between the trevises of the monastery walls, hidden in blackened shadow, pressed tight against each other. Giggles passed between fervent kisses as they stole the moment before anyone could see. 

Someone would round a corner. A guard or a knight or a merchant would hear the wet passes of their lips and come to investigate. They could only take just this second to spare their love. 

Claude pulled away from the kiss, a smile of pure contentment adorned his face. His fingers hooked along Byleth’s jaw, tracing the shape of it in a long smooth motion. His eyes glinted in the dark, promising so many little things. 

And Byleth couldn’t wait. 

Byleth froze time.

Claude had turned to leave the quiet little stall between the walls. His eyes already moved away from Byleth, a single minded determination to move onto the next task, to continue on with their day, catching the sunlight, glowing gold. His hand had slipped from Byleth’s face, hovered frozen in the air, fingers limply shaped around nothing. 

Their other entwined together. 

Not losing that hold, Byleth dropped to their knees. 

It was tough working with one hand, but Byleth managed to unbuckle Claude’s belt and dance his pants just over his hips. It seemed the proximity, the slowness of their kiss, had a similar effect as it had on Byleth. More than half way to hard, his mind must have been working over time, playing out the exact same scenarios of the two of them, entwined and panting each other’s names. 

Byleth took the dick in their hand, jerking slow seductive pulls. The skin danced beneath their palm, pulling up and over the head, around as they twisted their hand. They looked up to see Claude, still staring out into the hallway, a soft smile on his face, hand in the air. Not a single hair out of place. 

The dick in their hand didn’t grow. It didn’t get harder, didn’t rise to attention, didn’t move. But there was a desire, a hunger, deep within Byleth and it would not be quieted until it was fed. Still a little soft, Byleth placed the dick into their mouth. 

It was a heavy weight against their tongue. The salt of precum danced on their taste buds. They let it sit in their mouth, feeling the fullness, even at only half mast. In their warmth, Claude’s cock fit secure, wrapped in a blanket of wet heat. 

Byleth wrapped their lips around its girth. 

They pulled on it, suckled. They hollowed out their cheeks and dragged their lips behind. They wrapped their tongue around the dick like a loving snake. They even raked their teeth against the soft skin. An act Claude would have complained about. He would have called out Byleth’s name in consternation, with a scathing look and a biting remark. Just to drive the point home, Byleth nibbled on the foreskin, allowed to do as they pleased with their frozen toy. 

They blinked their eyes up at their non participating lover. His charismatic smile, the broadness of his chest, his squared off shoulders. The slight flush of his cheeks from the exhilaration of making out with the one they loved. 

Byleth’s heart twisted and they pulsed the grip between their entwined fingers. 

Byleth found a steady pace as they bobbed up and down the half erect cock. Their eyes rolled back, enjoying the pull at the corner of their lips, the prickling sensation of static along their tongue. 

With a gasp of air, they pulled off, leaving behind only their saliva, the precum still static at the slit of Claude’s cock head. It fell back into place, where it had been just moments before. Byleth wrapped their hand around it and jerked on the length, watching in fascination as the skin moved up and down against the stillness of time. 

They leaned over to look out of the alcove. In the distance, the large opening to the marketplace shone a blinding white. Beyond the door, no details could be seen. Byleth could just make out the vague shapes of people, frozen in place, heading their way. 

A smile curled at the corner of Byleth’s lips and they ducked back inside. 

They turned, waddling from their squat position, pulling Claude with them. More than a gentle coax with the hips, having to physically, bodily, turn his legs. He faced the stone alcove wall, smiling at it and leaning into its solid form. 

Dick in hand, Byleth smiled up at their lover and let time unfreeze. 

Claude yelped like a dog. All at once his dick hardened to full mast and ejaculated cum all over Byleth’s face. He nearly walked into the wall, bracing himself against it as he came. Sticky ropes of white cum hit Byleth in the face, covering their features and getting in their hair. They winced, eyes closed against the onslaught of hot salted jizz. 

Claude twitched and shivered under Byleth’s hand. His teeth ground as he came, legs shaking, struggling to keep himself up. He braced both hands on either side of the wall, grounding out a soft moan as he finally gave in to the pleasure. 

And when it was all done, Byleth sat pleasantly at his feet, covered in his cum, smiling sweetly up at him. 

____

Byleth wished the moment could last forever. 

It was the quiet of night. Insects of the late summer chirruped their swan songs, the soft buzzing radiating through an open window. The humid breeze wafted in, pushing aside curtains into the room. A soft groan, the wet pass of lips, the shifting of sheets. 

Byleth lay on their back, draped in Dimitri’s weight. He hovered over them, his arms braced on either side of their head, crooked in closer so to properly kiss his paramour. In completely control of their kiss. 

He pushed up, pulling away from an eager tongue, to look down at the lover in his shadow. Byleth stroked a hand down Dimitri’s face, pushing aside long blonde strands of hair, tracing the outline of a small smile. A memory they wanted to capture and bottle to save for a rainy day. 

And they could. 

Byleth froze time.

A crystal clear blue eye smiled down at them. Cast in shadow and love. Byleth took the moment to stare at the frozen face before wriggling out from underneath his hover. The curtains in the window were stopped mid ruffle. The locks where Byleth’s hand had stroked through Dimitri’s hair sat up at an awkward angle. The king was hovered over nothing, relaxed in his joints and ready to slide down atop the body that was no longer beneath him. 

Byleth took a moment to admire his shape. Then got to work at _really_ admiring it. 

They crawled on the bed behind Dimitri, admiring the round shape of his ass. The curve of his hip, the definition between his legs. Oh so careful, Byleth curled their fingers around his pants and gently pulled them down, slowly, to reveal the pert ivory flesh of Dimitri’s glorious behind. 

It was wasted on war. The power in his thighs from leaping into the air, from wielding his weapon. The strength between his legs. The way all that rounded his ass into muscular nirvana. 

Byleth took a cheek in both hands, squeezing experimentally. A plush grip under each hand. A full handful of pure soft ass, pillowy and strong at the same time. Byleth leaned forward and ran their tongue up the skin, from the fold where ass met thigh, up the wide curvature, all the way to the dip of his back. They leaned to the other cheek, sinking in teeth for a solid bite. 

A thick cock dangled hard and wanting between spread legs. It pointed downwards, erect and needy. Byleth reached between Dimitri’s legs and ran their fingers over its shape. Across the vein underneath, over the shapely sack, around the head. Truly memorizing the member while they had the ample time to do so. 

Byleth leaned down. They tongued at the perineum, the soft patch of flesh between sack and ass. Had Dimitri been aware, had he not been subject to Byleth’s whims, he would have whimpered, moaned, reacted to that pressure. A little gasp here, a whine there, all the lovely things Byleth knew Dimitri for. But he sat on all fours, silent and resolute. 

And Byleth was hungry. 

Gentle as could be, Byleth repositioned their lover. One by one, they pulled on Dimitri’s arms, straightening them out onto the bed at his sides, and slowly lowered his face into the pillows. The effect pushed his ass into the air, presenting and beautiful. 

Byleth took a cheek in each hand and spread him open, revealing a cute little hole. They smiled to themselves, for no one else in that frozen world, and leaned in. 

The first pass of their tongue was slow. A pure self indulgent taste of Dimitri’s flesh. Byleth’s lids fluttered as their eyes rolled back in their head, a moan tickling the back of their throat. 

The second lap was quicker. Then by the third they had picked up a rhythm. 

The plush ass pillowed around their face, squeezing them in a comfortable hug, cheek to cheek. They massaged the flesh, digging appreciated fingers into it for their own enjoyment. Their tongue worked Dimitri over not just how he liked it but how Byleth wanted to taste him. 

They prodded their tongue past the tight rim. Bobbing their head back and forth, Byleth fucked him. Fucked their pliant lover just how they liked. They pushed on his ass, rocking his prone body back and forth on stilted knees, back onto their wanting mouth. 

When Byleth had enough, they once again reached between Dimitri’s legs and when they found his cock, they wrapped their hand around it and began to work. A utilitarian action, used to solely get him off. No finesse, no seduction, just work. 

Tugging on his cock. Tongue fucking his ass. Byleth was in heaven. 

And when they had enough, they released their iron grip on time. 

Dimitri shouted, open mouthed into the pillow. His back hunched and his legs spasmed, shaking and giving out under his weight. Byleth pressed a strong hand to his abdomen to keep him up, not letting up on the furious waggle of their thirsty tongue. 

Dimitri’s dick jerked of its own accord, cum dancing from his cock head onto the sheets. His body quaked as leaked, not settling down until _far_ after his dick was done with its orgasmic dance. 

Only then did Byleth stop. A gradual pause to bookend their start. Lapping with vigor to a slow draw of the tongue, until one more pull over Dimitri’s hole. 

Their king turned to look over his shoulder, a single gleaming eye glaring with incredulity. 

Byleth took another bite of his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	30. Linhardt/Felix - mind control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And thats all there is to it.” 
> 
> Felix stood across the room, arms folded across his chest, still unsure of Linhardt’s proposal. 
> 
> “Thats all,” he repeated slowly. “That seems pretty complicated.” 
> 
> “Nonsense,” Linhardt waved him off. “It should be fairly simple.” 
> 
> “And I take it you haven’t done this before.” 
> 
> Linhardt merely gave Felix an even stare and that was all the answer he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  MIND CONTROL  
> FACE FUCKING  
> ORGASM DENIAL**
> 
> Blame friend doop for this one. She wrote a fantastic Lin/Felix fic and I just had to slot this odd little ship in here. And I love it. Writing Lin is such a joy :) And Felix is my perfect prickly little cactus. Good ship.

“And thats all there is to it.” 

Felix stood across the room, arms folded across his chest, still unsure of Linhardt’s proposal. 

“Thats all,” he repeated slowly. “That seems pretty complicated.” 

“Nonsense,” Linhardt waved him off. “It should be fairly simple.” 

“And I take it you haven’t done this before.” 

Linhardt merely gave Felix an even stare and that was all the answer he needed. Felix sighed and ran his hand through his hair. 

“I don’t see how this will help in battle,” he said. 

“You don’t? Isn’t it obvious?” Linhardt said. “From a safe distance, I’ll control you body. Your power and strength would be as it is naturally, but combined with my tactical skills it will be used to its maximum potential.” 

Felix raised a brow. 

“Are you saying I don’t have tact?” he asked. 

“Precisely,” Linhardt said. 

Felix stared down Linhardt, waiting for it to dawn on the magician just how _untactful_ he was being, but that would be a futile game. Instead Felix sighed, rolled his eyes, and gave in. 

“Just a test then,” he said. 

“Just a test,” Linhardt agreed. He rolled up his sleeves, taking Felix’s surrender as permission. “To see if it will work.” 

“You seemed so confident that it will,” Felix said. 

“Of course it will,” Linhardt said, raising his hands. “Now hold still.” 

A few uttered words, the flash of light, and suddenly Felix felt a stiffness come over his body. An odd sensation ran from his tip to his toes. The loss of control, the stillness of his body. He commanded his limbs to move only for them to ignore him. All he could do was stare straight ahead and even then the sight of Linhardt was blurry. 

“Alright then,” Linhardt said. “Raise your arm.” 

Without his consent, Felix’s arm shot straight up into the air. It moved awkwardly on its own, the rest of his body not responding with it. 

“Now the other,” Linhardt said. 

Felix’s other arm rose to the air. His head hung low, his body far too lax, like a puppet on strings. 

“Hmm,” Linhardt said. He picked up a scroll of parchment and rested it on a book. He walked around Felix assessing him, and scrawling notes as he did. He paused just out of Felix's view. 

"How about you kneel?" he asked. 

Felix waited for his body to respond but he only held still, hands in the air. Behind him, the scritch of crowquill scrawled over parchment. 

"Fascinating," Linhardt muttered. "It seems to only work with commands."

Felix waited on the next command. He wanted to turn around, to tell Linhardt to get on with it, but he had to wait, had to listen to that quill. The sickening realization that he put himself willingly into Linhardt's hands settled in. If the magician chose to leave and take a nap, Felix would be left standing there, hands raised like a fool. 

There would be nothing he could do. 

"Alright then, get on your knees." 

Felix dropped heavy to the ground, his knees hitting the stonework hard. 

Behind him, he heard Linhardt wince. 

"Ah, I suppose I should have used gentler phrasing." 

It wasn't so bad, Felix had worse, but the shock of sudden impact was a bit much. The fact that his hands were still raised was worse. He must look a fool. 

"Get on all fours. _Gently._ " 

Felix slowly lowered himself to all fours, his hands settling neatly on the floor. 

"Okay, crawl." 

Felix had no choice but to obey. He shuffled forward, one hand at a time, feeling ridiculous. _Now_ he looked like a fool. 

With his head bowed he could not see where he was going and he bumped into the desk leg. Even with the obstacle he did not stop and only kept crawling, hitting the leg over and over again. 

"Ah. Interesting," Linhardt said. "I wonder if I gave a command as unspecific as 'kill' would the subject simply keep killing?" 

Felix listened to him get distracted with his notes and only kept crawling with no where to go. His face heat from the sheer embarrassment of crawling like a child and butting up against a table leg. Even being referred to as a _'subject'_ was humiliating. Reducing him down to something less than human. 

"Oh. Right. You can stop," Linhardt said dismissively. 

Felix stopped. A dull thud pulsated on the top of his head where he hit the desk leg. He could hear the scrawl of a pen tattoo ink into a parchment, furious scribbles in a short hand only Linhardt knew, leaving Felix neglected on the far side of the room. 

He glared down at his hands. Well, he glared in his mind. The prison of his body kept its blank expression, head staring at the ground, giving Felix nothing else to look at. There was something so exposed about his position. His ass pointed to Linhardt, legs grounded to carry him, but still so exposed. Defenseless. 

It should have terrified Felix, but it only stirred something deep within him. His heart pounded heavy against his chest. 

“Alright, crawl back here,” Linhardt commanded. 

Felix slowly turned in place like a lumbering animal, his body moving on hands and knees, arms and legs moving of their own accord, his face still down turned but his body knew where it was going. The slow crawl back to Linhardt was agonizing, moving like a tamed pet or an obedient child. It knocked Felix down a peg, reduced him to lesser. 

And worst still, he liked it. 

“Stop,” Linhardt said and Felix stopped. 

“Sit,” Lindhardt commanded and like the good dog he was, Felix sat back on his heels. 

His eyes were fixed squarely ahead. From his vantage, he couldn’t see Linhardt’s face, couldn’t see the calculating expressions at that pleased inquisitive hum of his. The way he said _’fascinating’_ , the voice coming from somewhere above Felix, brought Felix back to a place of _subject._

All he could see was body. His eyes fixed on nothing but a moving body. A body that told him what to do and he simply did it.

And Felix found he _liked_ being told what to do. 

He found that his own body, out of his control, still could react. 

“Ah yes right,” Linhardt said and waved his hand across the air, unzipping the spell. 

Felix puffed out a harsh breath of air and listed forward, head bowed and fists curling at his knees. Linhardt took a step closer until his shining scholar’s shoes were in Felix’s vision. A square stance of casual authority that made Linhardt’s commands more effective than any spell could ever. 

“Now if you could,” he said, tapping his pen. “Tell me what that was like from your perspective.”

Felix’s head shook as he slowly raised it to look up at Linhardt. How towering he was, his tall lean frame and heavy lidded eyes, looking down upon his _subject_ with only mild interest. Felix swallowed heavy and it was like pushing down sand. 

“It was.” Another heavy swallow. “Bizarre.” 

“Bizarre how?” Linhardt rapped the pen against the parchment in irritation. “I require specifics.” 

There it was again. The curling coiling heat in the pit of his stomach, the blood rushing through his dick. Linhardt’s impatience at his inability to follow his _exact_ direction. 

Felix wondered. 

“Would there be. . .” He shifted uncomfortably on the floor and cleared his throat. “Would there be another application for this?” 

Linhardt’s lazy eyes looked up to assess him in silent question. 

“Like how?” 

Felix shifted again. He could feel the heat radiating off his face. Discomfort raged over his skin and he yearned to be held again in Linhardt’s control. 

“Sexually.” He tried to say the word matter-of-fact, as how Linhardt might say it, but it came out pathetic and raspy. 

Linhardt stood up a little straighter, his brows rising to his hairline. His eyes jerked over Felix, assessing him like an insect, like a _subject_ for an entirely different experiment. He got to the very apparent tent in Felix’s pants and cocked his head to the side. His eyes flicked back up to meet Felix’s and bore holes into his soul. 

“I suppose,” he said. “Would you care to try?” 

Felix nodded, not trusting his voice. 

“Very well,” Linhardt said, placing down the pen. 

He closed the gap between them, coming close enough that if Felix simply leaned forward, his face would be pressed against Linhardt’s crotch. In an effort not to embarrass himself any further, he looked up, waiting. Anticipation turned into a far greater torture as Linhardt simply stared down at him, a small smile on his lips. 

He raised his hands. He said the words. Light emitted from his finger tips. 

And Felix dropped back into a place of no control. 

“Hmm,” Linhardt hummed. “This is interesting.” 

His hand rested atop Felix’s head and he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling strands from the bind, mussing up his bangs. 

“I did not anticipate such a reaction from you,” he said. “I’m not nearly as . . . enthusiastic as you are.” 

He pulled at Felix’s head, cocking it to the side, and there was nothing Felix could do to stop it. 

“No matter.” Linhardt pulled at his belt. “We’ll get there.” 

Linhardt lazily pulled his pants down on his hips, pulling out a semi-flaccid cock. He held it in his hand, not stroking it, just letting it sit there. Even without erection it was long and Felix’s own cock twitched in intrest at the sight of it. Linhardt rested a commanding hand on Felix’s head. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. 

Felix’s jaw clicked open. Linhardt shuffled forward, sliding a leg on either side of Felix’s bent knees, and slipped the limp dick onto Felix’s tongue. He ran the head up and down the wet of Felix’s tongue, over his lips, not moving his hips, but just guiding the cock in inquisitive exploration. Felix could feel it grow, filling deeper into his mouth. 

The hand on his head slowly pressed forward, pushing Felix’s face down the half hard cock, until he was flush against Linhardt’s abdomen. 

The sigh above him was less content and more resignation. Like he was bored. His hands brushed through Felix’s hair, pulling some out of the tie. It annoyed Felix, but there was little he could do. 

“Hmm,” Lindhardt hummed. “Close your lips. Not your teeth.”

With such a direct command, it was simple for Felix to follow.

“I think if I’m specific enough, I could instruct you with exactly what to do,” Linhardt mused. And after a moment of thought, “Wrap your tongue around my penis.” 

Felix barely had a moment to comprehend anything Linhardt said before his tongue was moving of its own accord. It curled, wrapping around the warm length, petting up skin, winding like a snake. And it held in that position. When Felix didn’t move, Linhardt sighed again. 

“Put your tongue down.” 

And Felix did. 

“Its far too exhausting telling you what to do.” He said it as a half yawn. 

Linhardt placed both hands on the back of Felix’s head and jerked his hips forward. The rapidly growing cock hit the back of Felix’s throat. 

“The point of this is not to do any of the work.” Linhardt was practically whining. He pulled on Felix’s hair, pulling him down his dick. “But it seems I’d have to choose between telling you what to do and just doing it myself.” 

Another fuck hit Felix’s face. Linhardt’s belt buckle tapped his cheek. The cold of it, the uncontrollable nature of the fuck, the fact he couldn’t protest back, couldn’t prove to Linhardt what he could do under his own power, only built that frustrating heat within his body. 

The face fucking was a steady rhythmn. Linhardt’s skin pressing up against Felix’s cheek, his nose smooshing as Linhardt pushed more and more. Air was hard to come by, but it seemed with is body not in control, his gag reflex was sated. He could take Linhardt’s cock with out any qualm. He rocked back and forth, his arms dangling limply in front of him, between his legs, sitting back on his heels. 

“I wonder. . .” Linhardt said and the tone of it struck a fear in Felix’s heart. 

One long fingered hand spider legged across the back of Felix’s head, clamping down and cramming him down Linhardt’s dick hard enough to hurt. There was a small pop in the air, a static, and Felix’s gag reflex came back to life. He spasmed, his arms slapping at Lindhardt’s hips. The back of his tongue lurched against the long cock in his mouth and he coughed and gagged and reeled from the way hit poked his uvula. 

Linhardt’s grip was surprisingly strong and kept Felix fixed in place. 

“Can you feel this when you’re under?” he asked with a lazy cock of his head. 

Felix only whined, struggling against Lindhardt’s hand. He couldn’t get air in, trying to suck around Lindhardt’s dick, panicking too much to figure out what to do. He retched, his body convulsing. 

“Hmm. . .” Linhardt hummed, cocking his head the other way. 

Felix tried to acclimate, tried to find a corner of his mind that still could pull rational thought. His nose began to clog up from being overworked and drool dribbled out of the corners of his lips. He stopped flailing and held onto Linhardt’s hips too tight. Finally, he managed to look up. 

Linhardt stared passively down at him, trying to assess what was so wrong with what he was doing. He reached up and for a second Felix thought he would hold his face in some modicum of intimacy. Instead, his thumb pushed in to Felix’s mouth, pulling his cheek out wide. Felix sucked in cold air and drool through his teeth. He breathed like a bull against Linhardt’s dick  
“If you’re quite done, answer my question,” Linhardt commanded. 

Felix shook his head, the dick in his mouth hitting him from cheek to cheek. 

“Interesting.” Linhardt pulled Felix’s mouth wider. Until his lips ached. “The mind control supersedes bodily function. Well.” 

Linhardt nudged his foot forward and tapped the hard cock trapped in Felix’s pants. Felix sobbed, his head flopping forward against Linhardt’s abdomen.

“Some bodily function,” Linhardt said. “Still. That could be most useful.” 

Felix groaned. His _bodily functions_ needed to be addressed and soon. 

“I suppose we should get back to it,” Linhardt sighed. 

The pressure on the back of Felix’s head let up, as did the thumb in his mouth. Felix slid down the dick with an obscene _shlurk_ , trying to recover from the swell in the back of his throat. By that point, the words of the spell were a familiar murmur on Linhardt’s lips and Felix felt his body go slack again. His arms dropped limply at his sides and he held still with that dick still in his open mouth. 

Without a word, two strong hands clamped on either side of Felix’s head and almost immediately Linhardt began to pound his dick into Felix’s open face. A relentless steady rhythm, just as precise as the man fucking him. 

Linhardt halted. 

“I feel teeth,” he said. A statement, not a judgement. He reached down to cup Felix’s jaw. “Open your mouth wider.” 

Linhardt’s steady hand guided and molded Felix’s mouth until he had it at just the right spread. It wasn’t the tight wrap of his lips, but it was still a hot open mouth for Linhardt to fuck. 

The lock in Felix’s jaw was a dim pain, muted and muffled under the influence of the spell. Felix rocked back and forth as Linhardt pulled and pushed him. The dick pumped in and out of his face, his cheeks hitting Linhardt’s belt. Felix’s vision was the small hairs on Linhardt’s abdomen, swinging in and out, going from sharp to blurred to adjusting before slammed back in again. If he could, Felix would have closed his eyes and really lost himself in the moment. 

“I’m going to come.” 

Linhardt’s voice was strained, the cool composure of before, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, a breathlessness sneaking up on him. 

“I want you to. . .” Linhardt swallowed. His hips stuttered. “Don’t swallow.”

Felix could hear his heart pound in his ears. Something akin to anxiety fluttered in his stomach, twisting in light knots. How far against his own matriculations. He would revolt against it, but under Linhardt’s influence, he had no choice.

“Actively do not swallow,” Linhardt ground out. “Just. . . ah!” 

Again, Felix was pushed all the way down Linhadrt’s hard cock and cum spurt into the back of his throat. He felt the muscles within constrict, push back on the warm salty spunk. Another gagging noise completely out of his control gurgled from deep within him. The cum bubbled against his tongue, air glubbing through his mouth to spit the cum back out. 

Linhardt sighed lazily and extracted his dick. Strands of hot sticky cum dangled from Felix’s lips to Linhardt’s messy cock. He felt it dribble from his mouth, dangle down his chin. He could feel thick droplets wet on his thighs, sliding down his thumb. 

Linhardt crouched down, leaning on the balls of his feet, and rested his hand in his palm. He smiled, small and sardonic, and ran a thumb over Felix’s dangling abused lip. 

“I wonder if this goes against your own convictions,” he said, smearing cum between his thumb and forefinger. “Wouldn’t that be interesting.” 

A million sarcastic, biting comments sat on Felix’s abused tongue, none of them uttered. 

Linhardt’s eyes scanned down Felix’s body, settling on the tent between his legs. His little smile widened. 

“Sit down,” Linhardt commanded. “On your ass.” 

Felix shifted off his knees and did as he was told. 

“Spread your legs,” Linhardt said with a lazy wave of his hand. 

With his feet flat on the ground, Felix could only slid them across the ground. 

“Wider.” 

Felix’s inner thighs strained as he pushed against his flexibility. Spread wide before Linhardt, mouth open and leaking. He was sure there was a small wet spot on his pants from where his dick was leaking pre cum. 

Linhardt leaned forward, crawling on his hands between Felix’s splayed legs. He toyed with Felix’s belt, the tie of his pants, and opened them for Felix. His fingers, strong and thin, wrapped around Felix’s cock and pulled it out into the cool of the room. Without much more, Linhardt leaned back, once again perching his chin in his hands. 

Felix’s cock pulsed painfully. Linhardt simply sat, doing nothing. 

“Alright,” he said through a yawn. “Jerk yourself.” 

Felix took his own dick in his hand and began working it over with an easy efficiency. It was almost natural. He stared Linhardt down, his impassive eyes, his mocking smile. Humiliation crawled over Felix’s skin. Linhardt’s head bobbled as his eyes travelled down, staring unblinking at Felix’s weeping dick and working hand. 

“Jerk yourself faster,” Linhardt said, voice bouncing in a sing song. 

Felix did it. 

“Squeeze your hand tighter.”

Felix did as he was told. 

A tightness coiled in his gut, something pulling taut as his physical needs were met. 

“I wonder,” Linhardt said with a cock of his head. That inquisitive clinical stare only touched with amusement. 

His eyes flicked back up to Felix and before the words even fell from his lips, Felix could feel the heat of arousal from his command. 

“Don’t come,” Linhardt dropped, heavy as a brick. 

Immediately, Felix’s dick seized. Something deep within him, a control he didn’t know he had and never had a need to touch upon, held his orgasm at bay. His throat closed up and his breath constricted in his chest. His muscles pulled and ached as he tried to hold it in. His hand didn’t let up, his arm burning from exertion. 

Linhardt only smiled. That, more than anything, boiled Felix’s blood. 

Linhardt yawned, a muted little roar, and he pat his lips with an open hand. 

“Okay,” he said, the yawn still touching his words. “I guess I’m done. You can come.” 

Felix’s whole body spasmed in the most violent orgasm he ever experience. He shouted loud into the room. His legs kicked out, twitching and flailing. His body rocketed back, his head hitting the stone floor hard. 

He was physically knocked out of the control Linhardt held him in.

His dick jerked wildly in his hand as cum leapt from his cock and onto his stomach. His hand had seized up in a tight claw, gripping his dick in a death hold. Without the hold of Linhardt’s command, it had stopped moving, but his tight squeeze was more than enough to blur pleasure and pain. His hips bucked up into his hand, he moaned like an animal, like a prostitute. His eyes closed and his head swam, warmth radiating from the back where it hit the floor. 

When it was all over, Felix sucked in deep breaths of air, mouth puffing like a gold fish. 

From behind closed eyes, he could see the candlelight from the room fade into a blocked shadow. His eyes blinked open and he saw Linhardt hovering over him. The scholar ran a hand over his mouth. 

“Interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good ship :)))))) 
> 
> I only partially apologize, I've stopped editing :V


	31. Sylvain/Hubert - pony play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert rounded the corner to see the darkened figure edged up against the stall, one hand raised and stroking down a mare's mane. Sylvain turned at Hubert's appearance, smile lighting up the night. 
> 
> "Hey," he said, the word itself friendly, but oozing with a come on. 
> 
> "I didn't realize animals could speak," Hubert scoffed, setting down his bag. His eyes swept over Sylvain, acclimating to the dark, just enough to take in details. "Or wear clothes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONTENT WARNING:  
>  LACK OF AFTER CARE**
> 
> Aaaaaaand I'm officially behind. Tripped and fell right at the finish line. 
> 
> But hey, we are going to finish this. But I guess now I'm gonna take my time. With only this one and one more to go, and then I'll be out of y'alls hair. 
> 
> I am incapable of writing this ship not fucking in the stables APPARENTLY.

Late at night, the stables were abandoned save for the horses. A quiet setting, filled with the soft chirps of night insects and the grunts of horses. It was dark, abandoned, only lit by the soft glow from a full moon. 

Hay crackled underfoot as Hubert made his way down the center aisle. A long bag was slung over his shoulder, filled with all the equipment he'd need for riding. It weighed heavy, metal clinking with every step. At the designated darkened spot in the far corner of the stables, Hubert heard quiet words of praise, uttered under someone's breath. 

"There you go," the person said. "That's a good girl." 

Hubert rounded the corner to see the darkened figure edged up against the stall, one hand raised and stroking down a mare's mane. Sylvain turned at Hubert's appearance, smile lighting up the night. 

"Hey," he said, the word itself friendly, but oozing with a come on. 

"I didn't realize animals could speak," Hubert scoffed, setting down his bag. His eyes swept over Sylvain, acclimating to the dark, just enough to take in details. "Or wear clothes." 

"Getting right into it then, huh?" Sylvain asked. "No hey, how are you, how are you doing, did you have a good day?" 

Hubert simply gave Sylvain a bland stare, still bent over and holding one strap to the riding bag. 

Sylvain's smile cocked at one side and he began to unbutton his shirt, falling into the game they played. 

Annoyed with the delay, Hubert could only watch as the knight before him disrobed. He seemed to be putting on a show, maintaining perfect, unblinking eye contact. Hubert would be lying if he said it didn't have an effect. How Sylvain's attention was fixed solely on him, how bit by bit sun kissed skin was revealed, how Sylvain's world seemed to drop away and he slipped into a role of belonging to Hubert, of being _owned._

Despite all that, Hubert maintained his strict silent disapproval.

Once completely naked, his clothes discarded haphazardly in the hay and instantly forgotten, Sylvain stood and waited, still smiling in the charmingly pleasant way of his. 

Hubert snapped his fingers once and pointed to the ground at his feet. 

Knowing his place, Sylvain dropped to his knees. Without breaking that haunting stare, he got down on all fours. Slowly, he crawled across the stable and made his way to Hubert's feet. 

Hubert placed a glove hand on Sylvain's head and stroked through his hair. 

"There you go," he said, almost lovingly. "That's a good girl." 

Sylvain looked up from underneath Hubert's hand with a wry grin. Something dangerous gleamed in his eyes, the fearsome knight from the battlefield. Or maybe it was just the way his eye caught the light between his bangs and Hubert's fingers. 

Hubert grabbed Sylvain's hair and lifted him to his knees. In one harsh shove he pushed the man closer to the bulge in his pants. Good Sylvain didn't need direction and slowly ran his tongue over the fabric. 

Hubert’s hand rounded to the back of Sylvain’s head, holding it in place. He pressed, pushing the big man’s face harder down on his dick. That thick tongue barely had room to move, but he pressed on diligently, stroking saliva up and down the front of Hubert’s pants. Licking at him like he was made of sugar. Hubert groaned, the sound squeezing out like a sigh, and rocked his head back. His eyes closed focused on his pet’s little licks and the growing ache of his dick. 

Then came the teeth. 

A sinister lilting laugh and teeth dug into the shape Hubert’s dick made. None to light either. Strong enough and quick enough to dig in welts. 

Hubert shouted into the night and, grabbing Sylvain harshly by the hair, yanked his head back. Revealing that _insufferable_ grin. 

Still holding Sylvain’s hair tight in his fist, he smacked the grin off that face. Or at least tried to. A laugh came from Sylvain where a shout should have been and he grinned under the shadow of his bangs and a growing red handprint on his cheek. 

Hubert grabbed him by the chin and jerked his head back up. He pushed in Sylvain’s swollen cheeks, forcing his mouth open, and spat. 

The lump of saliva just barely made it into that grinning maw, catching wet and thick on Sylvain’s lip. Hubert smeared it in, shoving his lip back and forth, pulling it down to reveal gums. 

“Learn your place,” he said sternly. 

Sylvain didn’t say a word. Animals didn’t speak. Instead he smiled, he grinned, he lolled his tongue out to lick at the remains of Hubert’s hock. 

“Disgusting animal,” Hubert said, throwing Sylvain’s head away. 

Sylvain fell hands first to the straw, laughing all the while. He looked over his shoulder, carefully watching Hubert as he rounded the stall to his bag of instruments. 

He pulled out the crop first. He rose to his full height and gave a practice whip into his hand, feeling the sting. He wrapped his fingers around it, listened to the leather squeal as they rounded the head. Only then did he look at his animal. 

Sylvain’s eyes were wide and his grin was growing to match. He breathed in slow and deep, staring up at Hubert from his place of subservience. 

Masochist. 

Hubert disregarded the crop in favor for other toys first. He pulled out the plug, the one with the leather strands cascading from them. He spun it in the air, the leather strands whipping around his hand like a maypole. Again, he glanced to Sylvain. 

The big man sat loyally on all fours. He shifted, his ass waggling in the air in anticipation. 

He wanted it. 

Hubert scoffed and tossed the plug aside. Instead, he pulled out the harness. 

The head harness was an array of leather straps, perfectly constructed to fit around an ego enlarged head. They wrapped around neatly in a symmetrical sphere, designed to be snug but not too tight. Well, maybe too tight. 

Hubert walked back to the big man on the floor, watching the excitement crawl over his body and promptly disregarding it. He crouched down in front of Sylvain and shoved the hardened bit harshly into Sylvain’s mouth, shoving open his teeth and pressing at the corners. Sylvain gagged and was rocked back. 

Its what that _cock biter_ deserved. 

Leather straps went up and around Sylvain’s head, belted under his chin, at his temples, a soft triangle of leather sat between his eyes, all coalescing at his jaw. The blinds on other side stand at attention, leather stiff and propped up just so, leaving Sylvain with one focus and one focus only. The ears were purely for decoration. For humiliation. Hubert thought the black suited his horse nicely. 

For the next bit, Hubert worked from behind Sylvain, where the pony couldn’t get a good look at him. He dragged the collar over Sylvain’s head, around his neck, and yanked hard. Sylvain choked from behind his gag. An over exaggerated noise. Theater, more for Sylvain than anything Hubert could want. 

Hubert clicked the collar buckle into place, tightening it just a little too snug but not enough to constrict blood flow. 

And his horse was ready. 

“Stay,” Hubert commanded and gave no room for anything else. 

Hubert took his time walking back to the bag, taking slow deliberate steps. He gently picked up the crop and when he turned, Sylvain was looking at him. He had stayed, dutiful and obedient. Propped up on all fours with that perfect peach shaped ass on display. A wide back and thick legs, thick arms, and a hungry thick cock. But his head was turned so he could look straight down the tunnel his blinders made, so that he could see Hubert. 

At Hubert’s attention, Sylvain smiled and spread his legs just a little wider. 

Showboat. 

Hubert sighed, a slow huff through his nose. Once again, he whapped the crop in his hand. Once again wrung his hand over it. Cruel eyes snapped to eager ones, meeting them in an unblinking glare. Hubert took slow deliberate steps to his pony, the hay crunching under his boots. Once close enough, he wound his arm back and, with enough force to leave a mark, _thwapped_ the crop along Sylvain's broad backside. 

Sylvain grunted, his whole body jolting from the force of it. His head bowed and he bit down on the leather between his teeth, hard enough to leave indents. 

He loved it. 

Hubert pulled his arm back and with a huff of exhilaration, a suck in of his breath from the sheer force he put into the swing, he _smacked_ another cruel red line to match the first. The sound of leather on skin cracked like lightening in the stables and the horses reacted, prancing in their stalls. Sylvain threw his head back and groaned into the bit. 

"This is what you get," Hubert snarled, dropping another forceful blow. "When you act up." 

Hubert walloped his pony, making the flesh and fat of his bare ass dance and jiggle under his crop. He kept going, even as Sylvain's pleasured moans became tinged with sincere pain. Even when the waggle of his hiked up behind began to dance away from Hubert's unrelenting crop. 

Hubert took a fistful of firey hair and pushed down, pressing his little _pet_ to the earth and presenting him higher. On perfect display for his overbearing punishment.

Hubert swiped his crop in an arch, skimming over Sylvain's blistered skin. Sylvain pressed his head to the filth. Another, closer thrash in the other direction. Sylvain's nails dug into the earth. Hubert ran the head of the crop down the crack where the goddess split Sylvain, slithering the leather over his hole. He ran the crop further down, over the dangling shape of Sylvain's sack. A light little tap gave Hubert a squeaking yelp. 

Hubert laughed. 

Giving the big man no explanation, Hubert stopped his assault and walked to Sylvain's side. Sylvain turned his head, smearing his cheek and the blinds in the dirt, but his gaze didn't get far before Hubert snatched up his reins. He reared Sylvain off the floor, jerking his head back and dragging his body back upright into the air. Sylvain scrambled, clawing at the hay, until he reacclimated, resting his palms flat on the ground. 

Head pulled back and on all fours, Sylvain panted around the bit and could do nothing to stop the drool. 

Hubert sat hard on his back. The wind was knocked out of Sylvain's lungs, but he didn't dare buckle. Hubert sat side saddle and crossed one leg over the other. He looped the extra length of the reins around his wrist and idley ran the crop up and down Sylvain's splayed, twitching ass, humming as he did. 

"I wonder what I shall do with you tonight," Hubert mused. 

Sylvain was perched and posed, his ass in the air, his head propped up, the weight bending his back. A sight Hubert drank in. He circled the crop around that puckered hole.

"I could have you prance for me," he purred. 

Sylvain's chest pumped with every gasping breath. The crop slid back down, down between Sylvain's legs, tickling that dangling cock. 

"Ride you," Hubert murmured. 

Sylvain groaned as the crop rounded the head of his dick, toying with the stiff rod in tight circles. His head jerked back, falling into pure pleasure. 

"No. I know." 

Hubert slid the crop back up Sylvain, up his ass. He angled the tool and pressed the hard thin rod of the handle to Sylvain's hole, prodding inside. Hubert jerked the reins tighter and leaned in to line his lips to Sylvain's ear. 

"I'm going to breed you," he whispered. 

Sylvain groaned loud as the stiff tool passed his rim. Hubert grinned, pulsating the crop just a few centimeters, just to tease. 

"Would you like that? Pet?"

Sylvain moaned again, almost sounding like words. He attempted a nod, but could hardly move his head with the strain Hubert had it in. 

Hubert granted Sylvain another swift smack before getting off his back. 

"With me," Hubert ordered, taking swift steps across the stall and practically dragging Sylvain behind him. 

Sylvain shuffled quickly behind Hubert, his hands and knees brushing aside sharp strands of hay. At the other end of the stall, where it opened to the world outside, Hubert dragged Sylvain to his feet. He leaned the big man into the wood and pushed him once, driving the edge of the window into his sternum, just to make a point. A command without words. 

Hubert went back to his bag and when he returned he held a length of rope in his hands. He lined his body up against Sylvain's, pressing his confined cock against the heat of Sylvain's ass. Sylvain’s little whimpers and moans could not be stopped, not even with the gag across his lips. His head lolled back and he arched into Hubert’s erection. 

Ignoring the showboat’s tantalizing ministrations, Hubert reached around his pet and worked his hands together. He was quick to bind them around a wooden beam, tying Sylvain’s wrists flush together with an expert series of knots. Racking-up his horse so he couldn’t go anywhere. 

Once satisfied, Hubert took a step back to examine his work. He kicked at Sylvain’s feet, spreading them wider, forcing Sylvain to drop down and present himself. Sylvain choked back a surprised little noise as his chin nearly hit the sill. 

Before Hubert was an obscene figure. Sylvain, legs spread, hole presented, thick cock dangling and forgotten. Hubert could take pity on the man, wrap his fingers around that cock, shove his fist in that hole, milk him and save the cum for Sylvain to swallow. 

Another day perhaps. 

Hubert reached into his pocket and pulled out the quaint bottle of oil reserved for such occasions. He popped the cork off with just his thumb and it made a comical _pop_ sound before dropping to the hay. Sylvain panted and turned his head to look, but the blinds stopped him from seeing anything. 

Hubert rested a smooth hand onto the curve of Sylvain’s ass and pulled it open. He smeared oil onto his glove and ran his finger around that puckered entrance. Then slowly, deliberately, he shoved inside. 

By that point, Sylvain’s moans were just white noise. The braying of a horny horse. Hubert disregarded it, opting instead to work Sylvain over, slick him up, spread him. He watched with fascination, sliding two fingers into Sylvain’s wanting hole, and spread against the skin. Sylvain wriggled against it and tried to push back onto Hubert’s hand. A swift smack to his already abused backside stopped that in its tracks. 

Hubert worked Sylvain open with the efficiency of a stable owner simply trying to breed his stud. It was a job, a task with the single goal to perpetuate pedigree bloodlines. Sylvain babbled into the bit, attempting words of _’more’_ and _’please’_ , trying to illicit sympathy from the man who saw him as a mere tool. 

Hubert attempted to disregard his own arousal. He failed. 

His eyes ran up the expanse of a broad back, toned and tanned. How the shoulders moved. The thick neck that attempted to swallow around its restraint. Hubert’s dick twitched in his pants. Sylvain moaned like a whore, begging for it, more than ready. 

Hubert rose to his feet and pulled out his fingers in one swift movement. He pulled at the buckle of his belt, ran more oil over his weeping dick, and pushed inside his eager pony. The wanton noises from Sylvain did not stop. He laughed, actually laughed, in what sounded like pure joy. Hubert grunted and thrust hard enough to choke that laughter right out of the man. Hubert was rewarded for his troubles. 

With the same warmth he had fingering Sylvain, Hubert dug into a relentless pace in fucking the man. No easing into it, no romance, a simple fucking to get off and nothing more. He gripped Sylvain by the hips, his fingers digging into ample flesh. He hoped it bruised. He hoped Sylvain looked at the marks and got hard in his private moments. He hoped Sylvain saw them and knew his place. 

“Hnnnfff,” Sylvain choked behind his bit. “Aaahnnnn!” 

Hubert reached up and took a handful of Sylvain’s hair. He pulled at it, his fist finding some of leather bindings that looped around his head. His head jerked back in pain, the bit digging into the corners of his mouth and the blinds yanked backwards. Hubert could see the whites of his eyes, bulged and terrified and oh so very eager. 

Enough to drive a man wild. 

Hubert grunted and gave Sylvain one last difficult thrust. He hunched over his horse, bowed his head, and spilled cum deep into him. A quick affair to be sure, but there was no need to draw out a proper breeding. He filled his horse up, shooting into him. One more hard thrust, pulling back of Sylvain’s reins, one more grunt, and Hubert was done. 

He pulled his deflating dick from that tight hole and watched cum seep from it. Hubert ran a finger up the fleshy expanse between hole and sack, swiping up dribbling cum. He pushed his finger back into Sylvain, putting the spunk back in its place. 

“Hmph,” Hubert mused. 

Sylvain groaned. 

He was leaking. That simply wouldn’t do. 

Hubert went back to his bag of tricks and picked up the neglected plug. Sylvain was simultaneously boneless, pleasure drugged, and tense, wanting, waiting. Hubert slid the plug into place, keeping the cum well inside, and finally giving his horse a tail. He swiped a hand through the leather straps and they danced along Sylvain’s bare legs. Sylvain cooed behind the bit. 

How eager he was, how ready he was. He honestly felt he had earned release from Hubert’s hand. 

Hubert gathered up his crop, slid it into his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. 

“Oooer?” Sylvain asked behind his bit. 

Hubert walked to the edge of the stable and blew out the lantern that hung from the door. 

“Oober!” Sylvain flailed against his binds and turned this way and that in an effort to look at his tormentor. 

Hubert strolled back down the stables and headed to his room. He was quite tired and ready for bed. Behind him, Sylvain moaned in resignation and flopped against the sill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastard Hubert is my favorite flavor :3 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	32. Dimitri/Marianne - monster fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **KINKS:  
>  MONSTER FUCKING**
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:  
>  GORE**
> 
> About a month later, here's the last chapter. I wanted to get this piece of horror out for halloween, but I think I just burnt out at the end there. Ah well, here it is.

Dimitri was jolted from dead sleep by the scratching at his chamber door. 

He was yanked from his nightmares. Visions of so many screaming faces, open mouthed where no sound could come forth, hands scrambling to drag him down. Those he had lost, those he had made lost. Roiling in his mind. So the frantic taps on his door were more of a goddess send than anything else. 

He sat up in bed, blearily examining his darkened room. From the otherside of the thick oak, he heard those fingernails raking down the wood, could hear whimpers. 

Someone needed his aid. 

Without turning on a light or pulling on his patch, he scrambled from his bed, instantly brought into reaction. To help the person in need. He flung his door open to find the whimpering mouse of a woman curled in on herself. Eyes wide with fear, desperate tears pricked at the corners. Her hand was curled up in a claw, pathetically scratching with just the tips of her fingers at the door. She must have been working at it for some time. Her fingers were red. 

“Marianne,” Dimitri breathed. 

“Dimitri,” Marianne sobbed. “H-help.” 

She listed forward, grasping desperately to his night clothes, unable to stand under her own power. Dimitri caught her. She was shaking, too light. Dimitri held her as if she were made of glass. But the way she looked up at him, the way drool pooled at the corner of her open mouth, he knew that look. Was familiar with that stare on a deep intimate level. 

Blood lust. The thirst for violence. The oncoming onslaught to rip and tear and rend. 

It was foreign on her. 

“Marianne,” Dimitri said, more feared for her than himself. “What is happening?” 

“Dimitri,” Marianne snarled. She snarled. A rolling growl in the back of her throat. Her head dropped heavy, as if she couldn’t hold its weight. “Help me. Help me please.” 

Dimitri looked down his long hall. The nightly guard had yet to patrol by his room. It was empty, abandoned. Dimitri wondered why Marianne didn’t go to the infirmary, didn’t seek assistance from a medical professional. Why she came to him instead. 

When she looked up at him again, her eyes red and glowing in the night, he understood. 

“Its happening,” she whispered. “And I can’t stop it. I can’t hold it back.” 

In their most quiet of moments, Marianne had confided in Dimitri. They had laid down in the light of the moon, resting on soft grass that tickled Dimitri’s cheek. Marianne had looked over to Dimitri, sadness and love in her eyes, and told him. 

That was the moment when Dimitri knew that there was no going back. He would never love another. 

He had been working up the nerve, the first steps to properly courting this woman who was perpetually invited into his home, who he had gone to see multiple times. Not just for political reasons but for his own. 

He had been working on just how to tell her. 

A lance of cold rushed through his blood, afraid with her, afraid for her. 

“Come inside,” Dimitri said, all but dragging Marianne behind him. 

She stumbled into his room, such a scandalous thing in any other situation. The lady he wished to court, to be with, alone with him in his chambers. The rumors that would arise that their King had taken the lady von Edmund to his bed. But this was no such situation. This was dire. 

Marianne was in pain. 

Her hands clawed around her face and her mouth hung open. Dimitri could already see teeth, pointed and gleaming and sharp. Drool dribbled from in between her jaw and slitted eyes turned to pathetically plea for help. 

“D-dimitri. . .” she whimpered. 

“What do you need me to do?” Dimitri begged of her, holding her by the shoulders. 

Marianne couldn’t maintain her lucidity. Her head rocked forward and she barked out a cough. Fabric tore on the back of her dress, the slight whimpers of a rip as her bulging back pulled at it. 

“Make me. . . make me feel. . . human.” She tilted her head up to look him in the eye. A hunger, a ferocity snarled across her face, pulled at her lips with an inhuman quality. “Make me feel like a woman.” 

That, Dimitri could do. 

Marianne’s face was transforming, the bones shifting beneath his hands, but still Dimitri cupped her cheeks between his palms. Without much more permission than her request, he leaned forward to capture those snarling lips. 

It was a far cry from how he had imagined their first kiss might be. A sensitive, tentative thing, testing the waters between them, as their relationship had evolved thus far. How gentle he would have been with Marianne, how she would melt into his arms and let loose one of those soft content sighs when she was at her most comfortable around him. 

Not this fervor, not this passion, not this desperation. Marianne kissed back with all the ferocity of an animal. Teeth bit into his lip and she growled. She wrapped her arms possessively around him, nails or more like claws, dug into his back. They ripped into his fabric, fought back against him, pulled him closer. She wriggled against his body and Dimitri was sure that if he let her she would burrow her way into his rib cage. 

“Dimitri,” she gasped, she growled, she spat, but Dimitri wouldn’t allow much more than that, capturing her lips once again. 

She tasted of copper. She tasted of blood. Her mouth was hot and wet and viscous. Dimitri wanted to match her, tear into her, give into his more vicious nature. But he had to be restrained, had to hold back, even with the woman he loved so wanting in his arms. 

His head tilted back to match hers and Dimitri realized she was growing in his arms. A beastial form that rose up over him. 

As much as he wanted to savor this first moment, Dimitri had to act. Fast. 

He pushed against Marianne’s strength, the two of them struggling across the room, until she hit the desk on the far side. The wood rattled and an ink well fell over, staining the floor. Dimitri moved with fervor, tilting his head to kiss at her neck. He felt fur prickle at his lips. He fumbled with the ties of her nightgown, but it was unneeded. The fabric was in near tatters anyways. 

“D-dimitri. . .” 

Marianne hardly sounded human anymore. 

Claws dug into his skin, ruining his clothes. He could feel the prick of skin tearing open and the warmth of blood oozing free. Dimitri had endured worse and he would endure more. If it meant saving Marianne. 

She wailed and pushed him away. The strength of her was monstrous and Dimitri went stumbling back into the room. The wind was knocked out of his chest. He blamed his dropped guard that Marianne could get the upper hand over him like that, but he couldn’t deny her transformative power. 

Marianne was a wreck. A hunched over beast that was swiftly growing to tower over the king. Her hands were curled in front of her, nails protruding into dangerous claws, thick and unbreakable. Her mouth was a wide ghoulish grin, too many teeth filling it. Her hair was loosening from its plait, strands hung stringy around her haunted face. 

She stared at Dimitri like he was food. Like he was prey. 

A pathetic sympathy was worn like a mask, the fight churning inside her obvious. She lost and her head shook like a dog, and once again that hunger was pointed at Dimitri. 

A single stalking step forward was all it took to shake Dimitri free. 

She lunged at him in an attack and Dimitri maneuvered with her, moving like a dance, until he could pin the struggling beast to his bed. Marianne kicked and clawed at him, tearing at sheets and making feathers fly free from pillows. She roared in his face and it deafened him. But he only stared at her like the woman he loved, like she was precious. Affection oozing from his very being. 

“Marianne,” he whispered with fondness. 

He touched her, traced her shape, ran his hand over her hips. His fingers slid up torn skirts to run across a fur prickled leg. 

“Marianne,” he said, leaning in once again to kiss a mouth that was rapidly turning into a muzzle. He made do, loving her like the woman she was. 

His fingers curled into her thigh and found a heat between her legs. She growled, snarled and snapped against his ear, keened and whined as he slid inside. She was wet and wanting, her cunt just as hungry as the animal in front of him. Jaws snapped at him and ran ragged lines down his face. But he couldn’t recoil, he couldn’t sneer, he couldn’t snarl in return. 

He had to love her. 

Bunching up what was left of her nightgown, Dimitri crawled between thrashing legs. Bones crunched as they reformed, transforming into haunches. Feet extending, claws coiling out from toenails, ankles bending backwards. A distortion of the woman he saw on a day to day basis, but she was still there. Still beneath him. Big beautiful brown eyes pleading for him to love her. 

Dimitri pulled down his pants over his hips and eased his cock into the beautiful creature beneath him. 

Marianne howled. Her body bent, back arched. Claws dug into the mattress and ripped it open. Her hips bucked up to meet him, hungry for his dick as she was hungry to consume him. 

Dimitri did not give in, did not concede to his rampant desires to love this woman fiercely, furiously. To match her hunger. Instead, he rocked his hips, creating a sweet pace. 

“Oh Marianne,” he cooed, bowing his head. “You feel amazing, Marianne.” 

There were no more words coming from the beast. His lover. Only the continues snarls and snorts and grunts as she tried to meet his thrusts. She had grown so large, her flailing legs beat against the footboard, wood splintering and breaking behind Dimitri, but his focus would not be deterred. 

He leaned in close, draping the entirety of his body over his lover. Instead of all the soft curves and supple flesh he knew Marianne to be made of, he was greeted with a hard body. Thick pelt and muscle ripping from her, expanding her. He wrapped an arm around her to cup the back of her head. 

“Marianne,” he whispered fervently in her ear, like a prayer. 

Lethal claws dug into his back. A jaw clamped down on his shoulder. She dug in and shook her head, ripping and rending and tearing. Still Dimitri fucked her, loved her. The blood trickled down his neck, flaps of skin hung between her teeth. 

Dimitri chased his bliss, chased her own. 

He panted desperately into her ear, his own voice high pitched with whines. Blood pooled on his sheets and his vision swam. 

The claws in his back retracted. The sharp teeth in his shoulder pulled free, shifting to the dull flat of human teeth. Legs and arms stilled. Chest filled out against his. The cunt that wrapped around his dick tightened. 

He pulled back, looking down at the blood smeared face of the Marianne he knew staring wide eyed back up at him. 

“Dimitri,” she panted in her ecstasy. “Dimitri. I. . .” 

He cupped her face, running a shaking delicate hand down her cheek. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

She sucked in a tight gasp of air. Her head threw back again, legs tightened around his body, and the flats of her palms hit the stinging pain of his fresh wounds. For a moment, he worried she was shifting back again, but the way her cunt fluttered around his cock told him otherwise. 

Bowing his head before her and hiding in her collar bone, Dimitri spilled into his lover. 

The room descended into a near silence. Feathers floated around the room. The stink of blood and sweat married each other creating a bouquet that mirrored the battlefield. Their panting breaths echoed one another, breathing into each other. 

Dimitri bowed his head and brushed his lips delicately against Marianne’s. The pain of his wounds were catching up to him, but he knew he wouldn’t black out. Not with this powerful woman beneath him. 

He gazed down her, wide eyed, exploring his face. Her teeth bared and her nose scrunched up as she fought tears that threatened to spill. She lost that fight and sobbed, wrapping her arms around Dimitri’s neck. A laughing bark of a cry that was half way between misery, relief, and joy. A swirling concoction of emotion that Dimitri shared. He hugged her back, pulling her in close, wrapping his arms fiercely around her. A promise to protect her. 

Dimitri pat down her hair and let his new lover cry into his bleeding shoulder. 

“Its okay,” he soothed. “I have you. . . I’ll always be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thats it! A (mostly) successful Kinktober. I hope y'all enjoyed! It was a good challenge and I had a lot of fun. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves! <3 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


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